w 
 
 i^ 
 
^ 
 
 c:<# 
 
 ^'i^ 
 
 
 m 
 
LI B R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 UN1VLR5ITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 XSS3 
 
 V. \ 
 
EX 
 UB RIS 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/handofethelberta01hard 
 
THE HAND of ETHELBEKTA 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
She sTOPfac, likje a clock. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBEPJA 
 
 A COMEDY IN CHAP TEES 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS HAEDY 
 
 AUTHOR OP 'PAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD' ETC. 
 
 VIT/E POST-SCENIA C EL AUT — Lucretius 
 
 WITH ELEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 1876 
 
 [Alt li'jlils rescrrol] 
 

 \f.i 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIPvST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. A Street in Anglebury— A Heath near- 
 Inside THE ' Old Fox Inn ' 
 
 11. Christopher's House — Sandbourne Town — 
 Sandbourne Moor .... 
 
 III. Sandbourne Moor (continued) 
 
 IV. Sandbourne Pier — Road to Wyndway— Ball 
 
 ROOM in Wyndway House 
 
 V. At the Window — The Road Home 
 VI. The Shore by Wyndway 
 VII. The Dining-room of a Tow^n House — The 
 Butler's Pantry .... 
 
 VIII. Christopher's Lodgings — The Grounds 
 about Rookington .... 
 
 IX. A Village Inn — Rookington Drive — Chris 
 topher's Rooms .... 
 
 X. A Lady's Drawing-rooms — Ethelberta' 
 
 Dressing-room .... 
 
 XT. Lady Pether win's House 
 XII. Sandbourne and its Neighbourhood . 
 XIII. Some London Streets .... 
 
 23 
 41 
 
 48 
 59 
 G7 
 
 70 
 
 04 
 
 102 
 
 109 
 123 
 130 
 13G 
 
vi CONTEXTS OF TIIR FIRST VOLUNrR. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XIV. Arrowthorne Park and Lodge . . . 141 
 
 XV. The Lodge {continncd) — The Copse behind 147 
 
 XVI. A Turnpike Road .... 
 XVII. An Inner Room at the Lodge . 
 XVIII. A Large Public Hall .... 
 XIX. Ethelberta's House .... 
 XX. Xear Sandbourne — London Streets — Ethel- 
 berta's ...... 
 
 XXI. Ethelberta's Drawing-room 
 
 XXII. The Neighbourhood of the Hall — The Road 
 Home 
 
 XXIII. A Street — Neigh's Rooms — Christopher's 
 
 Rooms . . , 
 
 XXIV. Ethelberta's House .... 
 
 XXV. Ethelberta's House {continued) . 
 
 XXVI. Ethelberta's House {continued) — The 
 British Museum .... 
 
 XXVII. The Royal Academy — The Harefield Es 
 TATE 
 
 XXVIII. Ethelberta's Drawing-room 
 
 XXIX. Mrs. Belmaine's— Cripplegate Church 
 
 16G 
 172 
 
 178 
 188 
 
 204 
 215 
 
 219 
 
 225 
 235 
 
 252 
 
 263 
 
 278 
 294 
 30G 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTEATIONS. 
 
 ' She stopped like a clock ' . . . . Frontiqyiece 
 
 'Well, what did you think of my poems?' to face page 68 
 
 Round heb, leaning against bkanches, or 
 prostrate on the ground, were five or 
 
 SIX individuals „ 148 
 
 ' Goodness ! How quick you were ! ' . . „ 218 
 
 It was a tender time „ 272 
 
 The Harefield Estate ,, 289 
 
THE 
 
 HAND OF ETHELBEETA 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A STREET IN AXGLEBUEY — A HEATH NEAR IXSIDE 
 
 THE ' OLD FOX INN.' 
 
 Young Mrs. Petherwin stepped from the door of an old 
 tliougli popular inn in a Wessex town to take a country 
 Avalk. By lier look and carriage she appeared to 
 belong to that gentle order of society which has no 
 worldly sorrow except when its jewellery gets stolen ; 
 but, as a fact not generally known, her claim to dis- 
 tinction was rather one of brains than of blood. She 
 was a respectable butler's daughter, and began life as 
 a baby christened Etlielberta after an infant of title 
 who does not come into the story at all, having merely 
 furnished to Ethelberta's mother a means of occupying 
 herself as head nurse. She became teacher in a school, 
 was praised by examiners, admired by gentlemen, not 
 admired by gentlew^omen, Avas touchxcd up with accom- 
 
 YOL. I. B 
 
 •1 
 
2 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 plishments by masters who were coaxed into painstaking 
 by her many graces rather than by her few coins, and, 
 entering a mansion as governess to the daughter there- 
 of, was stealthily married by the son. He, a minor 
 like herself, died from a chill caught during the wed- 
 ding tom\ and a few weeks later was followed into the 
 grave by Sir Ealph Petherwin, his unforgiving father, 
 who had bequeathed his wealtli to his wife absolutely. 
 
 These calamities were a sufficient reason to Lady 
 Petherwin for pardoning all concerned. She took by 
 the hand the forlorn Ethelberta — who seemed rather a 
 detached bride than a widow — and finished her educa- 
 tion by placing her for two or three years in a board- 
 ing-school at Bonn. Latterly she had brought the 
 girl to England to live under her roof as daughter and 
 companion, the condition attached being that Ethel- 
 berta w^as never openly to recognise her poor relations. 
 
 The elegant young lady, as she had a full right to 
 be called if she cared for the definition, arrested all the 
 local attention wdien she emerged into the summer- 
 evenmg light with that diadem-aud-sceptre bearing — 
 many people for reasons of heredity discovering such 
 graces only in those whose vestibules are lined with 
 ancestral mail, forgetting that a bear may be taught to 
 dance. While this air of hers lasted, even the inani- 
 mate objects in the street appeared to know that she 
 was there ; but from a way she had of carelessly over- 
 throwing her dignity by versatile moods, one could not 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 3 
 
 calculate upon its presence to a certainty when she was 
 round corners or in little lanes which demanded no 
 repression of animal spirits. A 
 
 ' Well to be sure ! ' exclaimed a milkman, regard- 
 ing her. ' We should freeze in our beds if 'twere not 
 for the sun, and, dang me ! if she isn't a pretty piece. 
 A man could make a meal between them eyes and 
 chin — eh, hostler? Odd nation dang my old sides if 
 he couldn't ! ' 
 
 The speaker, who had been carrying a pair of pails 
 on a yoke, deposited them upon the edge of the pave- 
 ment in front of the inn, and straightened his back to 
 an excruciating perpendicular. His remarks had been 
 addressed to a rickety person, wearing a waistcoat of 
 that preternatural length from the top to the bottom 
 button which prevails among men who have to do with 
 horses. He was sweeping straws from the carriage- 
 way beneath the stone arch that formed a passage to 
 the stables behind. 
 
 ' ]^ever mind the cursing and swearing, or some- 
 body who's never out of hearing may clap yer name 
 down in his black book afore you know it,' said tlie 
 hostler, also pausing, and lifting his eyes to tlie nud- 
 lioned and transomed windows and moulded parapet 
 above him — not to study them as features of ancient 
 architecture, but just to give as healthful a stretch to 
 the eyes as his acquaintance had done to liis back. 
 'Michael, a old man like you ought to think about 
 
 b2 
 
4 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 Other tilings, and not be looking two ways at your 
 time of life. Pouncing upon young flesh like a carrion 
 crow — 'tis a vile thing in a old man.' 
 
 ' 'Tis, and yet 'tis not, for 'tis a naterel taste,^ said 
 the milkman, again surveying Ethelberta, who had now 
 paused upon a bridge in full view, to look down the 
 YiYGV. ' Now, if a poor needy feller like myself could 
 only catch her alone when she's dressed up to the nines 
 for some grand party, and carry her off to some lonely 
 place — sakes, what a pot of jewels and goold things I 
 warrant he'd find about her ! 'Twould pay en for his 
 trouble.' 
 
 ' I don't dispute the picter ; but 'tis sly and untimely 
 to think such roguery. Though I've had thoughts 
 like it, 'tis true, about high women — Lord forgive 
 me for't.' 
 
 ' And that figure of fashion standing there is a 
 widow woman, so I hear ? ' 
 
 ' Lady — not a penny less than lady. Ay, a thing 
 of twenty-one or thereabouts.' 
 
 ' A widow lady and twenty- one. 'Tis a backward 
 age for a body who's so forward in her state of 
 life.' 
 
 ' Well, be that as 'twill, here's my showings for her 
 age. She was about the figure of two or three-and- 
 twenty when 'a got off coach last night, tired out Avi'^ 
 beaming about the country ; and nineteen this morning 
 when she came downstairs after a sleep round the 
 
THE HAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 5 
 
 clock and a clane wasliecl face : so I thought to myself, 
 twenty-one, I thought.' 
 
 'And what's the young woman's name, make so 
 bold, hostler ? ' 
 
 ' A}^ and the house were all in a stoor with lier and 
 the old w^oman, and their boxes and camp kettles, that 
 they carry to wash in because hand-basons bain't big 
 enough, and I don't know wliat all ; and t'other folk 
 stopj^ing here were no more than dirt thencefor'ard.' 
 
 ' I suppose they've come out of some noble city a 
 long way herefrom ? ' 
 
 'And there was her hair up in buckle as if she'd 
 never seen a clay-cold man at all. However, to cut a 
 long story short, all I know besides about 'em is that 
 the name upon their luggage is Lady Petherwin, and 
 she's the widow of a city gentleman- shopman, wdio was 
 made a Knight Templar for being a man of valour in 
 the Lord Mayor's Show.' 
 
 'Who's that chap in the gaiters and pack at his 
 back, come out of the door but now ? ' said the milk- 
 man, nodding tow^ards a figure of that description who 
 had just emerged from the inn and trudged off in the 
 direction taken by the lady — now out of sight. 
 
 ' Chap in the gaiters ? Chok' it all — why the fother 
 of that nobleman that you call chap in the gaiters used 
 to be hand in glove with half the Queen's court.' 
 
 'What d'ye tell o'?' 
 
 ' That man's father was one of the mayor and cor- 
 
b THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 poration of Sandbournc, and was that familiar with 
 men of money, tliat lie'd slap 'em upon the shoulder as 
 you or I or any other poor fool would the clerk of the 
 parish.' 
 
 ' Oh, what's my lordlin's name, make so bold, 
 then?' 
 
 'Ay, the toppermo^t class now-a-days have left off 
 the use of wheels for the good of their constitutions, so 
 they traipse and walk for many years up foreign 
 hills, wliere you can see nothing but snow and fog, till 
 there's no more left to walk up ; and if they reach 
 home alive, and h'an't got too old and weared out, they 
 walk and see a little of theu* own parishes. So they 
 tower about with a pack and a stick and a clane white 
 pocket-handkerchief over theu* hats just as you see he's 
 got on his. He's been staying here a night, and is off 
 now again. " Young man, young man," I think to 
 myself, " if your shoulders were bent like a bandy and 
 yoiu' knees bowed out as mine be, till there is not an 
 inch of straight bone or irristle in 'ee, th' wouldstn't o;o 
 doing hard work for play 'a b'lieve." ' 
 
 ' True, true, upon my song. Such a pain as I have 
 had in the small of my back all this day to be sure ; 
 words don't know what shipwreck I suffer in this back 
 o' mine — that they do not ! And what was this young 
 widow lady's maiden name, then, hostler ? Folk have 
 been peeping after her, that's true ; but they don't seem 
 to know much about her family.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. Y 
 
 'And while I've tended horses fifty year that other 
 folk might straddle 'em, here I be now not a penny 
 the better ! Often-times, when I see so many good 
 things about, I feel inclmed to help myself in common 
 justice to my pocket. 
 
 Work Lard and be poor, 
 Do nothing and get more. 
 
 But I draw in the horns of my mind and think to 
 myself, "Forbear, John Hostler, forbear ! " — Her maiden 
 name ? Faith, I don't know^ the woman's maiden name, 
 though she said to me, " Good evening, John ; " but I 
 had no memorv of ever seeino- her afore — no, no more 
 tlian the dead inside church-hatch — where I shall soon 
 be likewise — I had not. "Ay, my nabs," I think to 
 myself, "more know Tom Fool than Tom Fool 
 knows." ' 
 
 'More know Tom Fool — what rambling old can- 
 ticle is it you say, hostler?" enquired the milkman, 
 lifting his ear. 'Let's have it again — a good saying 
 well spit out is a Christmas fire to my withered heart. 
 More know Tom Fool — ' 
 
 ' Than Tom Fool knows,' said the hostler. 
 
 ' Ah ! That's the very feeling I've feeled over and 
 over again, hostler, but not in such gifted language. 
 'Tis a thought I've had in me more or less for years, 
 and never could lick into shape ! — 0-ho-ho-ho ! Splen- 
 did ! Say it again, hostler, say it again ! To hear my 
 
8 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 own poor notion that liad no name brought into form 
 hke that — I wouldn't ha' lost it for the world ! More 
 know Tom Fool than — than — h-ho-ho-ho-ho ! ' 
 
 ' Don't let your cheerful soul break out in such a 
 heathen uproar, for heaven's sake, or folk will surely 
 think you've been laughing at the lady and gentleman. 
 Well, here's at it again — Xight t'ee, Michael.' And the 
 hostler went on with liis sweeping. 
 
 '!N"ight t'ee, hostler, I must move too,' said the 
 milkman, sliouldering his yoke, and walking off; and 
 there reached the inn in a gradual diminuendo, as he 
 receded up the street, shaking his liead convulsively, 
 'More know — Tom fool — than Tom fool — ho-ho-lio- 
 ho-ho!' 
 
 The ' Old Fox,' as the inn or hotel was called which 
 of late years had become the fashion among tourists, 
 because of the absence from its precincts of all that 
 was fashionable and new, stood on the border of the 
 town without havino; been built there. In the com-se 
 of time houses had been pulled down at one end of the 
 place, and new ones erected at the other, which lay 
 towards the railway station : thus the inn had passed 
 from middle to outside in consequence of its sheer un- 
 changeableness, just as in the mobility of parties a 
 consistent man of long life may, somewhat to his sur- 
 prise, be a person of advanced views in youth and of 
 retrograde principles in old age, by the mere fact 
 of remaining just the same. 
 
THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. \) 
 
 Standino^ now as tlic northern bulwark of the town, 
 the hostel formed a corner where in winter the winds 
 whistled and assembled their forces previous to plung- 
 ing helter-skelter along the streets. In summer it was 
 a fresh and pleasant spot, convenient for such quiet 
 characters as sojourned there to study the geology and 
 beautiful natural features of the country round. 
 
 The lady whose appearance had asserted a diffe- 
 rence between herself and the Anglebury people, with- 
 out too clearly showing what that difference was, passed 
 out of the high-road in a few moments after leaving 
 the bridge, and she soon got into a lonely valley, 
 which, at its further end, spread out into a fiat heath. 
 She had walked to the beginning of this dead level, 
 w^atching the base of a cloud as it closed down upon 
 the line of a distant ridge, like an upper upon a lower 
 eyehd, shutting in the gaze of the evening sun. She 
 was about to return before dusk came on, when she 
 heard a commotion in the air immediately behind and 
 above her head. The saunterer looked up and saw a 
 wild-duck flying along with the greatest violence, just 
 in its rear being another large bird, which a country- 
 man would have pronounced to be one of the biggest 
 duck-hawks that he had ever beheld. The hawk neared 
 its intended victim, and the duck screamed and re- 
 doubled its efforts. 
 
 Ethelberta impulsively started off in a rapid run 
 that would have made a little dof]^ bark with delight 
 
10 THE ITAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 and run after, her object being, if possible, to see the 
 end of tliis desperate struggle for a life so small and 
 nnlieard-of. Her stateliness went away, and it could 
 be forgiven for not remaining ; for her feet suddenly 
 became as quick as fingers, and she raced along over 
 the uneven ground with such force of tread that, bemg 
 a woman slightly heavier than gossamer, her patent 
 heels punched little D's in the soil with unerring 
 accuracy wherever it was bare, crippled the heather- 
 twigs where it was not, and sucked the swampy places 
 with a sound of quick kisses. 
 
 Her rate of advance was not to be compared with 
 that of the two birds, though she went sAviftly enough 
 to keep them well in sight in such an open place as 
 that around her, liaving at one point in the journey 
 been so near that she could hear the whisk of the 
 duck's feathers against the wind as it hfted and lowered 
 its wings. AYhen the bird seemed to be but a few 
 yards from its enemy she saw it strike downwards, and 
 after a level flight of a quarter of a ininute, vanish. 
 The hawk swooped after, and Ethelberta now perceived 
 a whitely shining oval of still water, looking amid the 
 swarthy level of the heath like a hole through to a 
 nether sky. 
 
 Into this large pond, which the duck had been 
 making towards from the beginning of its precipitate 
 flight, it had dived out of sight. The excited and 
 breathless runner was in a few moments close enough 
 
THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 11 
 
 to see tlie disappointed hawk hovering and floating in 
 the air as if waiting for the reappearance of its prey, 
 upon which grim pastime it was so intent that by 
 creeping along softly she was enabled to get very near 
 tlie edge of the pool and witness clearly the conclusion 
 of the episode. Whenever the duck was under the 
 necessity of sliowing its head to breathe, the other bird 
 would dart towards it, invariably too late, however ; 
 for the diver was far too experienced in the rough 
 humour of the buzzard fomily at this game to come up 
 twice near the same spot, unaccountably emerging from 
 opposite sides of the pool in succession, and bobbing 
 again by the time its adversary reached each place ; so 
 that at length the hawk gave up the contest and flew 
 away, a sataiiic moodiness being almost perceptible in 
 the motion of its wings. 
 
 The young lady now looked around her for the 
 first time, and began to perceive that she had run a 
 long distance — very much farther than she had origi- 
 nally intended to come. Her eyes had been so long 
 fixed upon the hawk, as it soared against the bright 
 and mottled field of sky, that on regarding the heather 
 and plain again it was as if slie had returned to a half- 
 forgotten region after an absence, and the whole pros- 
 pect was darkened to one uniform shade of approach- 
 ing night. She began at once to retrace her steps, but 
 having been indiscriminately Avheeling round the pond 
 to get a good view of the performance, and having 
 
12 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 followed 110 path thither, she found the proper direction 
 of her journey to be a matter of some uncertainty. 
 
 ' Surely,' she said to herself, ' I faced the west at 
 starting : ' and yet on walking now with her back 
 where lier face had been set, she did not approach the 
 notch in the horizon which was all that remained of the 
 valley by the town. Thus dubiously, but with httle 
 real concern, slie walked on till the evening hghts 
 began to turn to dusk, and the shadows to darkness. 
 
 Presently in front of her Ethelberta saw a wdiite 
 spot in the shade, and it proved to be in some way 
 attached to tlie head of a man who was coming towards 
 her out of a slight depression in the ground. It was 
 as yet too early in the evening to be afraid, but it was 
 too late to be altogether courageous ; and with balanced 
 sensations Ethelberta kept her eye sharply upon him 
 as he rose by degrees into view. The peculiar arrange- 
 ment of his hat and pugree soon struck her as being 
 the same that she had casually noticed hanging on a 
 peg in one of the rooms of the ' Old Fox ' the night 
 before, and when he came close she saw that his arms 
 diminished to a pecuhar smallness at their junction with 
 his shoulders, like those of a doll, a phenomenon wliich 
 was explained by thek being girt round at that point 
 with the straps of a knapsack that he carried behind 
 him. Encourag-ed by the probabihty that he, like her- 
 self, was staying or had been staying at the ' Old Fox,' 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 13 
 
 slie said, ' Can you tell mc if this is the way back to 
 Anglebury ? ' 
 
 ' It is one way ; but the nearest is in this direction/ 
 said the tourist — the same who had been criticised by 
 the two old men. 
 
 At hearing him speak ail the delicate activities in 
 the young lady's person stood still : she stopped like a 
 clock. When she could again fence with the perception 
 which had caused all this, she breathed. 
 
 ' Mr. Julian ! ' she exclaimed. The words were 
 uttered in a way which would have told anybody in a 
 moment that here lay something connected with the 
 light of otlier days. 
 
 'Ah, Mrs. PetherwinI — Yes, I am Mr. Julian — 
 though that can matter very little, I should think, 
 after all these years, and what has passed.' 
 
 No remark was returned to this rugged reply, and 
 he continued unconcernedly, ' Shall I put you in the 
 path — it is just here ? ' 
 
 ' If you please.' 
 
 'Come with me, then.' 
 
 She walked in silence at his heels, not a word 
 passing between them all the way: the only noises 
 Avhich came from the two were tlie brushing of her 
 dress and his gaiters against the heather, or the smart 
 rap of a stray flint against his boot. 
 
 They had now readied a little knoll, and lie turned 
 abruptly : ' That is Anglebury — just where you see 
 
14 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 those lights. The path down there is the one you 
 must follow : it leads round the hill yonder and directly 
 into the town.' 
 
 'Thank you,' she murmured, and found that he 
 had never removed his eyes from her since speaking, 
 keeping them fixed with mathematical exactness upon 
 one point in lier face. She moved a little to go on 
 her way ; he moved a httle less — to go on his. 
 
 ' Good night,' said Mr. Julian. 
 
 The moment, upon the very face of it, w\as critical ; 
 and yet it was one of those which have to wait for a 
 future before they acquire a definite character as good 
 or bad. We often figure in junctures about whicli 
 we can foresee that ' that time ! ' will some day be 
 our habitual thought, even while we do not at all foresee 
 the tone, bright or mournful, that the thought will 
 wear. 
 
 Thus much would have been obvious to any out- 
 sider ; it may have been doubly so to Ethelberta, 
 for slie gave back more than she had got, replying, 
 ' Good-bye — if you are going to say no more.' 
 
 Then in struck Mr. Julian : ' What can I say H 
 You are notliing to me. . . I could forgive a 
 woman doing anything for spite, except marrying for 
 
 spite.' 
 
 ' The connection of that with our present meeting 
 does not appear, unless it refers to what you have 
 done. It does not refer to me.' 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 15 
 
 ' I am not married ; you are.' 
 
 She did not contradict him, as she might have 
 done. ' Christopher,' she said at hist, ' this is how it 
 is : you knew too much of me to respect me, and too 
 httle to pity me. A half knowledge of another's life 
 mostly does injustice to the life half known.' 
 
 ' Then since circumstances forbid my knowing you 
 more, I must do my best to know 3'ou less, and ele- 
 vate my opinion of your nature by forgetting what it 
 consists in,' he said, in a voice from which all feehng 
 was polished away. 
 
 ' If I did not know that bitterness had more to do 
 with those words than judgment, I — should be — bitter 
 too ! You never knew half about me ; you only 
 knew me as a governess ; you little think what my 
 beginnings were.' 
 
 ' I have guessed. I have many times told myself 
 that your early life was superior to your position when 
 I first met you. I think I may say without presump- 
 tion that I recognise a lady by birth when I see her, 
 even under reverses of an extreme kind. And cer- 
 tainly there is this to be said, that the fact of having 
 been bred in a wealthy home does slightly redeem an 
 attempt to attain to such a one again.' 
 
 Ethelberta smiled a smile of many meanings. 
 
 ' However, we are wasting words,' he resumed, 
 cheerfully. ' It is better for us to part as we met, and 
 continue to be the strani^ers that we have become to each 
 
IG THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 other. I owe you an apology for having been betrayed 
 into more feehng than I had a right to show, and let 
 us part friends. Good night, Mrs. Petherwin, and suc- 
 cess to you. We may meet again some day, I hope.' 
 
 'Good night,' she said, extending her hand. He 
 touched it, turned about, and in a sliort time nothing 
 remained of him but quick regular brushings against 
 the heather in the deep broad shadow of the moor. 
 
 Ethelberta slowly moved on in the direction that 
 he had pointed out. This meeting had surprised her 
 in several ways. First, there was the conjuncture 
 itself ; but more than that was the fact that he had not 
 parted from her with any of the tragic resentment 
 that she had from time to time imagined for that scene 
 if it ever occurred. Yet there was really nothing 
 wonderful in this : it is part of the generous nature of 
 a bachelor to be not indisposed, after years of sepa- 
 ration, to forgive a portionless sweetheart who, by 
 marrying elsewhere, has deprived him of the bliss of 
 being obliged to marry her himself. Ethelberta would 
 have been disappointed quite had there not been a 
 comforting development of exasperation in the middle 
 part of his talk ; but after all it formed a poor substi- 
 tute for the loving hatred she had expected. 
 
 When she reached the hotel the lamp over the 
 door showed a face a little flushed, but the agitation 
 which at first had possessed her was gone to a mere 
 nothing. In the hall she met a slender woman wearing 
 
THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 17 
 
 a, silk dress of that peculiar black wliicli in sunlight 
 proclaims itself to have once seen better clays as a 
 brown, and days even better than those as a lavender, 
 green, or blue. 
 
 'Menlove,' said the lady, 'did you notice if any 
 gentleman observed and followed me when I left the 
 hotel to go for a walk this evening ? ' 
 
 The lady's-maid, thus suddenly pulled up in a night 
 forage after lovers, put a hand to her forehead to show 
 that there was no mistake about her having begun to 
 meditate on receiving orders to that effect, and said at 
 last, ' You once told me, ma'am, if you recollect, that 
 when you were dressed, I was not to go staring out 
 of the window after you as if you were a doll I had 
 just manufactured and sent round for sale.' 
 
 ' Yes, so I did.' 
 
 ' So I didn't see if anybody followed you this 
 evening.' 
 
 ' Then did you hear any gentleman arrive here by 
 the late train last ni^ht ? ' 
 
 ' no, ma'am — how could I ? ' said Mrs. Menlove 
 — an exclamation which was more apposite than her 
 mistress suspected, considering that the speaker, after 
 retiring from duty, had shpped down her dark skirt to 
 reveal a light, puffed, and festooned one, put on a hat 
 and feather, together with several pennyweights of 
 metal in the form of rings, brooches, and earrings — all 
 in a time whilst one could count a hundred — and 
 VOL. I. c 
 
18 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 enjoyed half an hour of prune courtship by an honour- 
 able young waiter of the town, who had proved constant 
 as the magnet to the pole for the space of the day and 
 a half that she had known him, returning home then 
 and falling asleep the instant she was in bed — small 
 blame to IMi's. Menlove for her enterprise. 
 
 Going at once upstairs, Ethelberta ran down the 
 passage, and after some hesitation softly opened the 
 door of the sitting-room in the best suite of apartments 
 that the inn could boast of. 
 
 In this room sat an elderly lady writing by the light 
 of two candles with green shades. Well knowing, as 
 it seemed, who the intruder was, she continued her 
 occupation, and her visitor advanced and stood beside 
 the table. The old lady wore her spectacles low down 
 her cheek, her glance being depressed to about the 
 slope of her straight white nose in order to look through 
 them. Her mouth was pursed up to almost a youthful 
 shape as she formed the letters with her pen, and a 
 slight move of the lip accompanied every downstroke. 
 There were two large antique rings on her forefinger, 
 against which the quill rubbed in moving backwards 
 ■and forwards, thereby causing a secondary noise rival- 
 ling the primary one of the nib upon the paper. 
 
 ' Mamma,' said the younger lady, ' here I am at 
 last.' 
 
 A writer's mind in the midst of a sentence being 
 like a ship at sea, knowing no rest or comfort till safely 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 19 
 
 piloted into the harbour of a full stop, Lady Petherwin 
 just replied with ' What,' in an occupied tone, not rising 
 to interrogation. After signing her name to the letter, 
 she raised her eyes. 
 
 'Why, how late you are, Ethelberta, and how 
 heated you look ! ' she said. ' I have been quite alarmed 
 about you. What do you say has happened ? ' 
 
 The great, chief, and altogether eclipsing thing that 
 had happened was the accidental meeting with an old 
 lover whom she had once quarrelled with ; and Ethel- 
 berta's honesty would have delivered the tidings at 
 once, had not, unfortunately, all the rest of her attri- 
 butes been dead against that act, for the old lady's sake 
 €ven more than for her own. 
 
 ' I saw a great cruel bird chasing a harmless duck ! ' 
 slie exclaimed, innocently. ' And I ran after to see- 
 what the end of it would be — much further than I had 
 any idea of going. However, the duck came to a pond, 
 and in running round it to see the end of the fight, I 
 could not remember which way I had come.' 
 
 ' Mercy ! ' said her mother-in-law, lifting her large 
 oyelids, heavy as window-shutters, and spreading out 
 her fingers Hke the horns of a snail. ' You might have 
 sunk up to your knees and got lost in that swampy 
 place — such a time of night, too. What a tomboy you 
 are ! And how did you find your way home after all ? * 
 
 ' Oh, some man showed me the way, and tlien I had 
 no difficulty, and after that I came along leisurely.' 
 
 c 2 
 
20 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' I thought you had been running all the way ; you 
 look so warm.' 
 
 'It is a warm evening . . . Yes, and I have been 
 thinking of old times as I walked along,' she said, ' and 
 how people's positions in life alter. Have I not heard 
 you say that while I was at Bonn, at school, some 
 family that we had known had their household broken 
 up when the father died, and that the children went 
 away you didn't know where ? ' 
 
 ' Do you mean the Julians ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, that was the name.' 
 
 ' Why, of course you know it was the Julians. 
 Young Juhan had a day or two's fancy for you one 
 summer, had he not? — just after you came to us, at the 
 same time, or just before it, that my poor boy and you 
 were so desperately attached to each other.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, I recollect,' said Ethelberta. 'And he had 
 a sister, I think. I wonder where they went to live 
 after the family collapse.' 
 
 ' I do not know,' said Lady Petherwin, taking up 
 another sheet of paper. ' I have a dim notion that the 
 son, who had been brought up to no profession, became 
 a teacher of music in some country town — music having 
 always been his hobby. But the facts are not very 
 distinct in my memory.' And she dipped her pen for 
 another letter. 
 
 Ethelberta, with a rather fallen countenance, then 
 left her mother-in-law, and went wliere all ladies are 
 
THE IIA^^D OF ETHELBERTA. 21 
 
 supposed to go wlien they want to torment tlieir minds 
 in comfort — to lier own room. Here she thoughtfully- 
 sat down awhile, and some time later she rang for her 
 maid. 
 
 'Menlove,' she said, witliout looking towards a 
 rustle and half a footstep that had just come in at the 
 door, but leaning back in Iicr chair and speaking 
 towards the corner of the looking-glass, ' ^vill you go 
 down and find out if any gentleman named Julian has 
 been staying in this house ? Get to know it, I mean, 
 Menlove, not by directly enquiiing ; yoa have ways of 
 getting to know things, have you not ? If the devoted 
 George were here now, he would help ' 
 
 ' George was nothing to me, ma'am.' 
 
 ' James, then.' 
 
 ' And I only had James for a week or ten days : 
 when I found he was a married man, I encouraged his 
 addresses very little indeed.' 
 
 ' If you had encouraged him tooth and nail, you 
 couldn't have fumed more at the loss of him. But 
 please to go and make that enquiry, will you, Menlove ? ' 
 
 In a few minutes Ethelberta's woman was back 
 
 again. 'A gentleman of that name stayed here last 
 
 night, and left this afternoon.' 
 
 ' Will vou find out his address ? ' 
 */ 
 
 Now the lady's maid had already been quick- 
 witted enough to find out that, and indeed all about 
 him ; but it chanced that a fashionable illustrated 
 
22 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 weekly paper had just been sent from the bookseller s, 
 and beino; in want of a little time to look it over before 
 it reached her mistress's hands, Mrs. Menlove retired^ 
 as if to go and ask the question — to stand meanwhile 
 imder the gas-lamp in the passage, inspecting the fas- 
 cinating; euOTavino's. But as time will not wait for 
 tire-women, a natural length of absence soon elapsed, 
 and she returned again and said, 
 
 ' His address is, Upper Street, Sandbourne.' 
 ' Thank you, tliat will do,' rephed her mistress. 
 The hour grew later, and that dream^y period came 
 round when ladies' fancies, that have lain shut up close 
 as their fans durmg the day, begin to assert themselves 
 anew. At this time a good guess at Ethelberta's 
 thoughts might have been made from her manner of 
 passing the minutes away. Instead of reading, entering 
 notes in her diar}', or doing any ordinary thing, she 
 walked to and fro, cm^led her pretty nether hp within 
 her pretty upper one a great many times, made a cradle 
 of her locked fingers, and paused with fixed eyes where 
 the walls of the room set limits upon her walk to look 
 at nothing but a picture within her mind. 
 
THE HAND OP ETHELBEKTA. 23 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 Christopher's house — saxdbourne town — 
 sandbourne moor. 
 
 During the wet autumn of the same year, the postman 
 passed one morning as usual into a plain street that ran 
 through tlie landward portion of Sandbourne, a coast 
 town and watering-place not many miles from Angle- 
 bury. He knocked at the door of a flat-faced white 
 house, having two windows on each Hoor, so that the 
 front altogether was like a large six-of-spades. The 
 door was opened by a slight, thoughtful young man, 
 with his hat on, just then coming out, and there was 
 put into his hands a book packet, addressed, ' Christo- 
 pher Julian, Esq.' 
 
 Christopher took the package upstairs, opened it 
 with curiosity, and discovered within a green volume 
 of poems, by an anonymous writer, the title-page 
 bearing the inscription, 'Metres by Me.' The book 
 was new, though it was cut, and it appeared to have 
 been looked into. The young man, after turning it 
 over and exclaiming, 'Who the deuce sent this, I 
 
24 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 wonder ? ' laid it on the table and went his way, being 
 in baste to fulfil bis engagements for the day. 
 
 In the evening, on returning home from bis occu- 
 pations, be sat himself down cosily to read the newly- 
 arrived volume. The winds of this uncertain season 
 were snarling in the chimneys, and drops of rain spat 
 themselves into the fire, revealing plainly that the 
 young man's room was not far enough from the top of 
 the house to admit of a twist in the flue, and revealing 
 darkly a little more, if that social rule-of-three inverse, 
 the higher in lodgings the lower in pocket, were appli- 
 cable here. However, the aspect of the room, though 
 homely, was cheerful, a somewhat contradictory group 
 of furniture suggesting that the collection consisted of 
 waifs and strays from a former home, large and long 
 established, the grimy faces of the old articles exer- 
 cising: a curious and subduinoj effect on tlie brie^bt faces of 
 the new. An oval mirror of rococo workmanship, and 
 a heavy cabinet-piano with a cornice like that of an 
 Egjrptian temple, adjoined a harmonium of yesterday, 
 and a harp that was almost as new. Printed music of 
 the last century, and manuscript music of the previous 
 evening, lay tliere in such quantity as to endanger the 
 tidiness of a retreat which was indeed only saved from 
 a chronic state of litter by a pair of hands that some- 
 times played, with the lightness of breezes, about the 
 sewing-machine standing in a remote corner — if any 
 corner could be called remote in a room so small. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 25 
 
 Fire liglits and sliades from the shaking flames 
 struck in a butterfly flutter on the underparts of the 
 mantel-shelf, and upon the reader's cheek as he sat. 
 Presently, and all at once, a much greater intentness 
 pervaded his face : he turned back again, and read 
 anew the subject that had arrested his eyes. He was 
 a man v/hose countenance varied with his mood, though 
 it kept somewhat in the rear of that mood. He looked 
 sad when he felt almost serene, and only serene when 
 lie felt quite cheerful. It is a habit people acquire who 
 have had rej)ressing experiences. 
 
 A faint smile and flush now liglitened his face, and 
 jumping up he opened the door and exclaimed, 'Faith ! 
 will you come here for a moment ? ' 
 
 A prompt step was heard on the stairs, and the 
 young person addressed as Faith entered the room. 
 She was small in figure, and bore less in the form of 
 her features than in their shades when changing from 
 expression to expression tlie evidence that she was his 
 sister. 
 
 ' Faith — I want your opinion. But, stop, read this 
 first.' He laid his finger upon a page in the book, and 
 placed it in her hand. 
 
 The girl drew from her pocket a little green leather 
 sheath, Avorn at the edges to whitey- brown, and out of 
 that a pair of spectacles, unconsciously looking round 
 the room for a moment as she did so, as if to ensure 
 that no stramier saw her in the act of usin.::^ them. 
 
2G THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 Here a weakness was uncovered at once ; it was a 
 small, pretty, and natural one ; indeed, as weaknesses 
 go in tlie great world, it might almost have been called 
 a commendable trait. She then began to read, without 
 sittino; down. 
 
 These ' Metres by Me' composed a collection of soft 
 and marvellously musical rhymes, of a nature known 
 as the vers de societe. The lines presented a series of 
 playful defences of the supposed strategy of woman- 
 kind in fascination, courtship, and marriage — the whole 
 teeming with ideas bright as mirrors and just as unsub- 
 stantial, yet forming a brilhant argument to justify the 
 ways of girls to men. The pervading characteristic of 
 the mass was the means of forcing into notice, by 
 strangeness of contrast, the single mournful poem that 
 the book contained. It was placed at the very end, 
 and under the title of ' Cancelled Words,' formed a 
 whimsical and rather affecting love-lament, somewhat 
 in the tone of many of Sir Thomas Wyatt's poems. 
 This was the piece which had arrested Christopher's 
 attention, and had been pointed out by him to his 
 sister Faith. 
 
 ' It is very touching,' she said, looking up. 
 
 ' What do you think I suspect about it — that the 
 poem is addressed to me ! Do you remember, when 
 Either was alive and we were at Scarborough that 
 season, about a governess who came there with a Sir 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 27 
 
 Ealpli Petlierwin and his wife, people with a sickly 
 little daughter and a grow^n-up son ? ' 
 
 ' I never saw^ any of them. I think I remember 
 your knowing something about a young man of that 
 name.' 
 
 ' Yes, that w^as the family. Well, the governess 
 there was a very attractive woman, and somehow or 
 other I got more interested in her than I ought to have 
 done (this is necessary to the history), and we used to 
 meet in romantic places — and — and that kind of thing, 
 you know. The end of it w\as, she jilted me and mar- 
 ried the son.' 
 
 ' You were anxious to get away from Scarborough.' 
 
 ' Was I ? Then that ^vas chietly the reason. Well, 
 I decided to think no more of her, and I Avas helped to 
 do it by the troubles that came upon us shortly after- 
 wards ; it is a blessed arrangement that one does not 
 feel a sentimental grief at all when additional grief 
 comes in the shape of practical misfortune. How^ever, 
 on the first afternoon of the little holiday I took for 
 my walking tour last summer, I came to Anglebury and 
 stayed about the neighbourhood for a day or two to see 
 what it was like, thinkine^ w^e mi^ht settle there if this 
 place failed us. The next evening I left, and walked 
 across the heath to Stonford — that's a village about five- 
 miles further on — so as to be that distance on my way 
 for next morning ; and while I was crossing tlie heath 
 there I met this very woman. We talked a little,^ 
 
28 THE HAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 because we couldn't help it — you may imagine the kind 
 of talk it was — and parted as coolly as we had met. 
 Xow this strange book comes to me ; and I have a 
 stroni][ conviction that she is the writer of it, for that 
 poem sketches a similar scene — or rather suggests it ; 
 and the tone generally seems the kind of thing she 
 would write — not that she was a sad woman, either.' 
 
 ' She seems to be a warm-hearted, impulsive woman, 
 to judge from these tender verses.' 
 
 ' People who print very warm words have some- 
 times very cold manners. I wonder if it is really her 
 writing, and if she has sent it to me ! ' 
 
 ' Would it not be a singular thing for a married 
 woman to do ? Though of course ' — (she removed her 
 spectacles as if they hindered her from thinking, and 
 hid them under the time-piece till she should go on 
 reading) — ' of course poets liave morals and manners 
 of their own, and custom is no argument with them. 
 I am sure I would not have sent it to a man for the 
 world ! ' 
 
 ' I do not see any absolute liarm in her sending it. 
 Perhaps she thinks that, since it is all over, we may as 
 well die friends.' 
 
 ' If I were her husband I should have doubts about 
 the dying. And " all over " may not be so plain to 
 other people as it is to you.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not. And. when a man checks all a 
 woman's finer sentiment towards him by marrying her, 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 2^ 
 
 it is only natural that it should find a vent somewhere. 
 However, she probably does not know of my downfall 
 since father's death. I hardly think slie would have 
 cared to do it had she known that. (I am assuming 
 that it is Ethelberta — Mrs. Petherwin — who sends it : 
 of course I am not sure.) We must remember that 
 when I knew her I was a gentleman at ease, who had 
 not the least notion that I should have to work for a 
 living, and not only so, but should have first to invent 
 a profession to work at out of my old tastes.' 
 
 ' Kit, you have made two mistakes in your thoughts 
 of that lady. Even though I don't know her, I can 
 show you that. .Now I'll tell you : the first is in think- 
 ing that a married lady would send the book with that 
 poem in it without at any rate a slight doubt as to its 
 propriety : the second is in supposing that, had she 
 wished to do it, she would have given the thing up 
 because of our misfortunes. With a true woman the 
 second reason would have had no effect had she once 
 got over the first. I'm a woman, and that's why I know.' 
 
 Christopher said nothing, and turned over the 
 poems. 
 
 He lived by teaching music, and, in comparison 
 with starving, thrived ; though tlie w^ealthy might pos- 
 sibly have said that in comparison with thriving he 
 starved. During this night he hummed airs in bed, 
 thought he would do for the ballad of the fair poetess 
 
30 THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 what Other musicians had clone for the ballads of other 
 fair poetesses, and dreamed that she smiled on him as 
 her prototype Sappho smiled on Phaon. 
 
 The next morning before starting on his rounds a 
 new circumstance induced him to direct his steps to 
 the bookseller's, and ask a question. He had found 
 on examining the wrapper of the volume that it was 
 posted in his own town. 
 
 ' Iso copy of the book has been sold by me,' the 
 bookseller's voice replied from far up the Alpine 
 height of tlie shop-ladder, where he stood dusting stale 
 volumes, as was his habit of a morning before customers 
 came. ' I have never heard of it — ^probably never 
 shall ; ' and he shook out the duster, so as to hit the 
 delicate mean between stifling Christopher and not 
 stiflinG; him. 
 
 ' Surely you don't live by your shop ? ' said Chris- 
 topher, drawing back. 
 
 The bookseller's eyes rested on the speaker's ; his 
 face changed ; he came down and placed his hand on 
 the lappel of Christopher's coat. ' Sir,' he said, 'country 
 bookselling is a miserable, impoverishing, exasperating 
 thing in these days. Can you understand the rest.^ ' 
 
 ' I can ; I forgive a starving man anything*,' said 
 Christopher. 
 
 ' You go a long way very suddenly,' said the book- 
 seller. ' Half as much pity would have seemed better. 
 However, wait a moment.' He looked into a list of 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. ol 
 
 new books, and added : ' The work you allude to was 
 only published last week ; though, mind you, if it 
 had been published last century I might not have sold 
 a copy.' 
 
 Although his time was precious, Christopher had 
 now become so interested in the circumstance that the 
 unseen sender was somebody breathing his own atmo- 
 sphere, possibly the very writer herself — the book being 
 too new to be known — that lie again passed through 
 the blue shadow of the spire which stretched across 
 the street to-day, and went towards the post-office, 
 anmiated by a bright intention — to ask the postmaster 
 if he knew the handwriting in which the packet was 
 addressed. 
 
 Xow the postmaster w^as an acquaintance of Chris- 
 topher's, but, as regarded putting that question to liim, 
 there was a difficulty. Everything turned upon whether 
 the postmaster at the moment of asking would be in 
 his under-government manner, or in the manner with 
 which mere natm-e had endowed him. In the latter 
 case his reply would be all that could be wished ; in 
 the former, a man who had sunk in society might as 
 well put his tongue into a mousetrap as make an 
 enquiry so obviously outside the pale of legality as 
 was this. 
 
 So he postponed his business for the present, and 
 refrained from entering till he passed by after dinner, 
 when pleasant malt liquor, of that capacity for cheering 
 
32 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 which is expressed by four large letter X's marching in 
 a row, had refilled the globular trunk of the postmaster 
 and neutralised some of the effects of officialty. The 
 time was well chosen, but the enquiry threatened to 
 prove fruitless : the postmaster had never, to his know- 
 ledge, seen the writing before. Christopher was turning 
 away when a clerk in the background looked up and 
 stated that some young lady had brought a packet 
 with such an address upon it into the office two days 
 earher to get it stamped. 
 
 ' Do you know her ? ' said Christopher. 
 
 The clerk had not been there long, and he answered 
 the question : ' I have seen her about the neighbour- 
 hood. She goes by every morning ; I think she comes 
 into the town from beyond the common, and returns 
 ao"ain between four and five in the afternoon.' 
 
 ' What does she wear ? ' 
 
 ' A white wool jacket with zigzags of black braid.' 
 
 Christopher left the post-office and went his way. 
 He hardly seemed inclined to push his enquiries with 
 much vigour till after a discussion in the evening with 
 Faith, in which she entirely agreed with him in thinking 
 that neither author nor sender, whether different per- 
 sons or one and the same, was likely to be Ethelberta. 
 This, by a feeling of opposition, led him to resolve that 
 he would at any rate just cast eyes upon the stranger. 
 Among his other pupils there were two who hved at 
 some distance from Sandbourne — one of them in the 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 33 
 
 direction indicated as that habitually taken by the young 
 person ; and in the afternoon, as he returned home- 
 ward, Christopher loitered and looked around. At first 
 he could see nobody ; but when about a mile from the 
 outskirts of the town he discerned a light spot ahead 
 of him, which actually turned out to be the jacket 
 alluded to. In due time he met the wearer face to 
 face ; she was not Ethelberta Petherwin — quite a dif- 
 ferent sort of individual. He had long made up his 
 mind that this would be the case, yet he was in some 
 indescribable way disappointed. 
 
 Of the two classes into which gentle young women 
 naturally divide, those who grow red at their weddings, 
 and those who grow pale, the present one belonged to 
 the former class. She was an April-natured, pink- 
 cheeked girl, with eyes that would have made any 
 jeweller in England think of his trade — one who 
 evidently took her day in the daytime, frequently 
 caught the early worm, and had little to do with yawns 
 or candlelight. She came and passed him ; he fancied 
 that her countenance changed. But one may fancy 
 anything, and the pair receded each from each without 
 turning their heads. lie could not speak to her, plain 
 and simple as she seemed. 
 
 It is rarely that a man who can be entered and 
 made to throb by the channel of his ears is not open 
 to a similar attack through the channel of his eyes — 
 fur many doors will admit to one mansion— allow- 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 THE HAND OP ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ance being made for the readier capacity of chosen 
 and practised organs. Hence the beauties, concords, 
 and eloquences of the female form were never with- 
 out their effect upon Christopher, a born musician, 
 artist, poet, seer, mouthpiece — whichever a transla- 
 tor of Nature's oracles into simple speech may be 
 called. The young girl who had gone by was fresli 
 and pleasant ; moreover, she was a sort of mysterious 
 link between himself and the past, which these things 
 were vividly reviving in him. He had for some time 
 intended to fix his lessons out of town at a somewhat 
 later hour than hitherto, and he now found that this 
 alteration might lead to a meeting with her every 
 lesson-day, when perhaps, if he wished, an opportunity 
 might occur of making her acquaintance. The con- 
 templated change of time was carried out the following 
 week, and at once Christopher met her again. She 
 had not much dignity, he had not much reserve, and 
 the sudden resolution to have a holiday which some- 
 times impels a plump heart to rise up against a brain 
 that overweights it was not to be resisted. He just 
 lifted his hat, and put the only question he could think 
 of as a beginning r ' Have I the pleasure of addressing 
 the author of a book of very melodious poems that was 
 sent me the other day ? ' 
 
 The girl's forefinger twirled rapidly the loop of 
 braid that it had previously been twirling slowly, and 
 dramnc^ in her breath she said, 'No, sir.' 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. oa 
 
 ■'The sender, then? ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 She somehow presented herself as so insignificant 
 by the combined effect of the manner and the words 
 that Christopher lowered his method of address to her 
 level at once. 'Ah,' he said, 'such an atmosphere as 
 the writer of " Metres by Me " seems to breathe would 
 soon spoil cheeks that are fresh and round as lady- 
 apples — eh, little girl ? But are you disposed to tell 
 ine that writer's name ? ' 
 
 By applying a general idea to a particular case a 
 person with the best of intentions may find himself im- 
 mediately landed in a quandary. In saying to the coun- 
 try girl before him what would have suited the mass of 
 country lasses well enough, Christopher had offended 
 her beyond the cm^e of compliment. The expression 
 about lady-apples and little girl was not the kind of 
 thing she cared for. 
 
 ' I am not disposed to tell the writer's name,' she 
 replied, with a dudgeon that was very great for one 
 whose whole stock of it was a trifle. And she passed 
 on and left him standing alone. 
 
 Thus further conversation was checked ; but per- 
 haps that very flaw in his proceedings for approaching 
 her was what led Christopher to adhere to the re- 
 arranfjed hours of liis lesson ; he met her the next 
 Wednesday, and the next Friday, and throughout the 
 following week — no further words passing between 
 
 D 2 
 
36 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 them. For a while she went by very demurely, appa- 
 rently mindful of his offence. But effrontery is not 
 proved to be part of a man's nature till he has been 
 guilty of a second act : the best of men may commit a 
 first through accident or ignorance — may even be be- 
 trayed into it by over-zeal for experiment. Some such 
 conclusion may or may not have been arrived at by 
 the girl with the lady-apple cheeks ; at any rate, after 
 the lapse of another week a new spectacle presented 
 itself; her redness deepened whenever Christopher 
 passed her by, and embarrassment pervaded her from 
 the lowest stitch to the tip of her feather. She had 
 little chance of escaping him by diverging from the 
 road, for a figure could be seen across the open ground 
 to the distance of half a mile on either side. One day 
 as he drew near as usual, she met him as women meet 
 a cloud of dust — she turned and looked backwards 
 till he had passed. 
 
 This would have been disconcerting but for one 
 reason: Christopher was ceasing to notice her. He 
 was a man who often, when walking abroad, and look- 
 ing as it were at the scene before his eyes, discerned 
 successes and failures, friends and relations, episodes of 
 childhood, wedding feasts and funerals, the landscape 
 suffering greatly by these visions, until it became no 
 more than the patterned wall-tints about the paintings 
 in a gallery ; something necessary to the tone and 
 mode, yet not regarded. Nothing but a special con- 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 37 
 
 centratiou of liimself on externals could interrupt this 
 habit, and now that her appearance along the way had 
 •changed from a chance to a custom he began to lapse 
 again into the old trick. He gazed once or twice at 
 her form without seeing it : she met him the next 
 afternoon with a parasol o\er her face, completely 
 screening it from observation. He did not notice that 
 the parasol trembled. 
 
 The womanly device of the parasol had prevailed 
 but a few days, when a boy who tended the cows 
 browshig in scores about the meadows asked Chris- 
 topher the time of day, and afterwards stood regard- 
 ing him with an arrangement of face in which the 
 eyes dwindled very narrow, and gave up their place as 
 the most noticeable features of the countenance to the 
 upper and lower rows of teeth. 
 
 ' Well, what makes you merry ? ' said Christopher. 
 
 ' Hee-hee-hee, Sir ! — that young woman you meets 
 ivith the little umbrella ! ' 
 
 ' What about her ? ' Christopher sharply asked. 
 
 'Why, Sir, she've got a little small hole in her 
 umbrella, and when you think she don't see ye a morsel, 
 she's eyeing ye all the time through the little small 
 hole!' 
 
 Christopher went on thinking how oddly he had got 
 mixed up with this insignificant woman. Discretion 
 required more than ever tliat he should act as if there 
 were no such beiuu; within his horizon. And as he 
 
38 THE HAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 could not conveDiently alter the time of liis return 
 home, he made it a point to read, witli painful intent- 
 ness, from some book every day in his walk, for it 
 taxed his dignity of gaze a little to meet a woman who- 
 was reduced to the condition of timorously watching 
 him like a mouse in a hole — childish as the trick was. 
 Thus book in hand he regularly approached her now, 
 and could discern whenever he chose, over the margin 
 of the page which he was supposed to be concentrated 
 upon, the hem of her garment, or the tip of her toe 
 shpping past ; but he never looked up from his book 
 while the moor contained her. This went on till six 
 Tveeks had passed from the time of their first encounter. 
 Latterly might have been once or twice heard, when 
 he had moved out of earshot, a sound like a small 
 gasping sigh ; but no arrangements were disturbed, 
 and Christopher continued to keep down his eyes as 
 persistently as a saint in a church window. 
 
 The last day of his engagement had arrived, and 
 with it the last of his walks that way. On his final 
 return he carried in his hand a bunch of fiowers which 
 had been presented to him at the country-house where 
 his lessons were given. He was taking them home to- 
 his sister Faith, who prized the lingering blossoms of 
 the seeding season. Soon appeared as usual his fellow- 
 traveller ; whereupon Christopher looked down upon 
 his nosegay. ' Sweet simple girl,' he thought, ' I'll 
 
THE IIXND OF ETHELBERTA. 39 
 
 endeavour to make peace witli her by means of tliese 
 flowers before we part for good.' 
 
 When she came up he held them out to her 
 and said, 'Will you allow me to present you with 
 these?' 
 
 The bright colours of the nosegay instantly attracted 
 the girl's hand — perhaps before there had been time 
 for thought to thoroughly construe the position ; for it 
 happened that when her arm was stretched into the air 
 she steadied it quickly, and stood with the pose of a 
 statue — rigid w^ith uncertainty. But it was too late to 
 refuse : Christopher had put the nosegay within her 
 fingers. Whatever pleasant expression of thanks may 
 have appeared in her eyes fell only on the bunch of 
 flowers, for during the whole transaction they reached 
 to no higher level than that. To say that he was coming 
 no more seemed scarcely necessary under the circum- 
 stances, and wishing her ' Good afternoon' very heartily 
 he passed on. 
 
 He had learnt by this time her occupation, which 
 was that of pupil -teacher at one of the schools in the 
 town, whither she walked daily from a village near. 
 If he had not been poor and the little teacher humble, 
 Christopher might possibly have been tempted to en- 
 quire more briskly about her, and who knows how 
 such a pursuit might have ended ? But hard exter- 
 nals rule volatile sentiment, and under these untoward 
 
40 TUE HAND OP ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 influences the girl and the book and the truth about 
 its author were matters upon which he could not afford 
 to expend much time. All Christopher did was to think 
 now and then of the pretty innocent face and round 
 deep eyes, not once wondering if the mind which enli- 
 vened them ever thoue^ht of him. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 41 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 SANDBOURNE MOOR — {continued) . 
 
 It was one of those liostile clays of the year when 
 chatterbox ladies remain miserably in their homes 
 to save the carriage and harness, when clerks' wives 
 hate living in lodgings, when vehicles and people 
 appear in the street with duplicates of themselves 
 underfoot, when bricklayers, slaters, and other out-door 
 journeymen sit in a shed and drink beer, when ducks 
 and drakes play with hilarious delight at their own 
 family game, or spread out one wing after another in 
 the slower enjoyment of letting the delicious moisture 
 penetrate to their innermost down. The smoke from 
 the fines of Sandbourne had barely strength enough 
 to emerge into the drizzhng rain, hanging down the 
 sides of each chimney-pot like the streamer of a be- 
 calmed ship ; and a troop of mice might have rattled 
 down the pipes from roof to basement with less noise 
 than did the water that day. 
 
 On the broad moor to landward of the town, 
 where Christopher's meetings with the teacher had so 
 regularly occurred, were a stream and some large 
 
42 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 pools ; and beside one of these, near some hatches 
 and a weir, stood a little square building, not much 
 larger inside than the Lord Mayor's coach. It was 
 known simply as ' The Weir House.' On this wet 
 afternoon, which was the one following the day of 
 Christopher's last lesson over the plain, a nearly invi- 
 sible smoke came from the puny chimney of the hut. 
 Though the door was closed, sounds of chatting and 
 mirth fizzed from the interior, and would have told 
 anybody who had come near — which nobody did — that 
 the usually empty shell was tenanted to-day. 
 
 The scene within was a large fire in a fireplace to 
 which the whole floor of tlie house was no more than 
 a hearthstone. The occupants were two gentlemanly 
 persons, in shooting costume, who had been traversing 
 the moor for miles in search of wild duck and teal, a 
 waterman, and a small spaniel. In the corner stood 
 their guns, and two or three wild mallards, which 
 represented the scanty product of their morning^s 
 labour, the iridescent necks of the dead birds replying 
 to every flicker of the fire. The two sportsmen were 
 smoking, and their man was mostly occup3dng himself 
 in poking and stirring the fire with a stick : all three 
 appeared to be pretty well wetted. 
 
 One of the gentlemen, by way of varying the not 
 very exhilarating study of four brick walls within mi- 
 croscopic distance of his eye, turned to the small square 
 hole which admitted light and air to the hut, and 
 
THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 43 
 
 looked out upon the dreary prospect before liim. The 
 wide concave of cloud, of the monotonous hue of dull 
 pewter, formed an unbroken liood over the level from 
 horizon to horizon ; beneath it, reflecting its wan lustre, 
 the glazed high-road which bisected the moor stretched, 
 hedgeless and ditchless, past a directing-post where 
 another road joined it, and on to the less regular 
 ground beyond, lying hke a riband unrolled across the 
 scene, till it vanished over the furthermost undulation. 
 Beside the pools were occasional tall sheaves of flags 
 and sedge, and about the plain a few bushes, these 
 forming only obstructions near at hand to a view 
 otherwise unbroken. 
 
 The sportsman's attention was attracted by a figure 
 in a state of gradual enlargement as it approached 
 along the road. 
 
 ' I should think that if pleasure can't tempt a native 
 out of doors to-day, business will never force him out,* 
 he observed. ' There is, for the first time, somebody 
 cominf]^ alonc^ the road.' 
 
 'If business don't drag him out pleasure'll never 
 tempt en, is more like our nater in these parts, sk,' 
 said the man, who was looking into the fire. 
 
 The conversation showed no vitalit}^ and down it 
 dropped dead as before, the man who was standing up 
 continuing to gaze into the moisture. What had at first 
 appeared as an epicene shape the decreasing space re- 
 solved into a cloaked female under an umbrella : she 
 
44 THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 BOW relaxed lier pace, till, reacliing the directing-post 
 where the road branched into two, she paused and 
 looked about her. Instead of coming further she 
 slowly retraced her steps for about a hundred yards, 
 and partiall}-- hid herself among some stunted thorns. 
 
 ' That's an appointment,' said the first speaker, as 
 he removed the cigar from his lips ; ' and by the lords, 
 what a day and place for an appointment with a 
 woman ! ' 
 
 ' What's an. appointment ? ' enquired his friend, a 
 town young man, with a Tussaud complexion and well- 
 pencilled brows half way up his forehead, so that his 
 upper eyelids appeared to possess the uncommon 
 quality of tallness. 
 
 ' Look out here, and you'll see. By that directing- 
 post, where the two roads meet. As a man devoted to 
 art, Ladywell, who has had the honour of being hung 
 higher up on the Academy walls than any other living 
 painter, you should take out your sketch-book and dash 
 off the scene.' 
 
 Where nothing particular is going on, one incident 
 makes a drama ; and, interested in that proportion, the 
 art-sportsman puts up his eyeglass (a form he ad- 
 hered to before firing at game that had risen, by which 
 merciful arrangement the bird got safe off), placed his 
 face beside his . companion's, and also peered through 
 the opening. The young pupil-teacher — for she was 
 the object of their scrutiny — ^re-approached the spot 
 
THE HAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 45 
 
 whereon she had been accustomed for the hist many 
 weeks of her journey home to meet Christoplier, now 
 for the first time missing, and again she seemed re- 
 luctant to pass the hand-post, for that marked the point 
 where the chance of seein2^ him ended. She crhded 
 backwards as before, this time keeping her face still to 
 the front, as if trying to persuade the world at large, 
 and her own shamefacedness, that she had not yet 
 approached the place at alL 
 
 ' Query, how long will she wait for him (for it is a 
 liim to a certainty) ? ' resumed the elder of the smokers, 
 at the end of several minutes of silence, when, full of 
 vacillation and doubt, she became lost to view behind 
 some bushes. ' Will she reappear ? tell me, gentles.' 
 The smoking went on, and up she came into open 
 ground as before, and walked hngeringly by. 
 
 ' I wonder who the girl is, to come to such a place 
 as that in this weather ? There she is again,' said the 
 young man called Lady well. 
 
 ' Some cottage lass, not yet old enough to make the 
 most of the value set on her by her follower, small as 
 that appears to be. Now we may get an idea of the 
 hour named by the fellow for the appointment, for, 
 depend upon it, the time when she first came — about 
 five minutes ago — was the time he should have been 
 there. It is now getting on towards five — half-past 
 four was doubtless the time mentioned.' 
 
46 THE II AND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ' She's not come o' purpose : 'tis her way home 
 from school every day,' said the waterman. 
 
 ' An experiment on woman's endurance and patience 
 under neglect. Two to one against her staying a 
 quarter of an hour.' 
 
 ' The same odds against Iier not staying till five 
 would be nearer probability. What's half an hour to 
 a girl in love ? ' 
 
 ' On a moorland in wet weather it is thirty per- 
 ceptible minutes to any fireside man, woman, or beast 
 in Christendom — minutes that can be felt, like the 
 Egyptian plague of darkness. ISTow, little girl, go 
 home : he is not worth it.' 
 
 Twenty minutes passed, and the girl returned 
 miserably to the hand-post, still to wander back to her 
 retreat behind the sedge, and lead any chance comer 
 from the opposite quarter to believe that she had not 
 yet reached this ultimate point beyond which a meet- 
 ing with Christopher was impossible. 
 
 ' Now you'll find that she means to wait the com- 
 plete half-hour, and then oJQT she goes with a broken 
 heart.' 
 
 All three now looked through the hole to test the 
 truth of the prognostication. The hour of five com- 
 pleted itself on their watches ; the girl again came 
 forward. And then the three in ambuscade could see 
 her pull out her handkerchief, and place it to her 
 eyes. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 47 
 
 ' She's grieving now because he has not come. Poor 
 little woman, wliat a brute he must be ; for a broken 
 heart in a woman means a broken vow in a man, as I 
 infer from a thousand instances in experience, romance, 
 and history. Don't open the door till she is gone, 
 Ladywell; it will only disturb lier.' 
 
 As they had guessed, the pupil- teacher, hearing the 
 distant town-clock strike the hour, gave way to her 
 fancy no longer, and launched into the diverging path. 
 This hngering for Christopher's arrival had, as is 
 known, been founded on nothing more of the nature of 
 an assignation than lay in his regular walk along the 
 plain at that time every Monday, Wednesday, and 
 Priday of the six previous weeks. It must be said that 
 he was very far indeed from divining that his inju- 
 dicious peace-offering of the flowers had stirred into 
 hfe such a wearing, anxious, hopeful, despairing solici- 
 tude as this, which had been latent for some time 
 during his constant meetings with the little stranger. 
 
 She vanished in the mist towards the left, and the 
 loiterers in the hut began to move and open the door, 
 remarking, ' Now then for Wyndway House, a change 
 of clothes, and a dinner.' 
 
48 THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 SAXDBOURNE TIER — ROAD TO WYXDTVAY — BALL-ROOM IX 
 WYXDAVAY HOUSE. 
 
 The last light of a winter day had gone down behind 
 the houses of Sandbourne, and night w^as shut close 
 over all. Christopher, about eight o'clock, w^as stand- 
 ing at the end of the pier with his back towards the 
 open sea, from whence the waves were pushing to the 
 shore in frills and coils that were just rendered visible 
 in all their bleak instability by the row of lights along 
 the sides of the jetty, the rapid motion landward of the 
 wave-tips producing upon his eye an apparent progress 
 of the pier out to sea. Before him extended the lamp- 
 lit watering-place itself, the specks of flame with which 
 it was tricked oitt enlarging in long perspective fi:om 
 points far right and left to a throng in the centre of 
 the picture, like Uvo opposing rockets with their sparks 
 transfixed. This pier-head was a spot which Christo- 
 pher enjoyed visiting on such moaning and sighing 
 nio-hts as the present, when the sportive and variegated 
 throno- that haunted the pier on autumn days was no 
 lono-er there, and he seemed alone with weather and 
 the invincible sea. 
 
THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 49 
 
 Somebody came towards him along the deserted 
 footway, and rays from the nearest lamp streaked the 
 face of his sister Faith. 
 
 ' Oh, Christopher, I knew you were here,' she said 
 eagerly. ' You are wanted ; there's a servant come 
 from Wyndway House for you. He is sent to ask if 
 you can come immediately to play at a little dance they 
 have resolved upon this evening — quite suddenly it 
 seems. If you can come, you must bring with you any 
 assistant you can lay your hands upon at a moment's 
 notice, he says.' 
 
 ' Wyndway House ; why on earth should the people 
 send for me above all other musicians in the town ? ' 
 
 Faith did not know. ' If you really decide to go,' 
 she said, as they walked homeward, ' you might take 
 me as your assistant. I should answer the purpose, 
 should I not. Kit ? since it is only a dance or two they 
 seem to want.' 
 
 ' And your harp I suppose you mean. Yes ; you 
 might be competent to take a part. It cannot be a 
 regular ball ; they would have had the quadrille band 
 for anything of that sort. Faith — we'll go. However, 
 let us see the man first, and enquire particulars.' 
 
 Eeaching home, Christopher found at his door a 
 liorse and waggonette in charge of a man-servant in 
 livery, who repeated what Faith had told her brother. 
 Wyndway House was a well-known country seat three or 
 four miles out of the town, and the coachman mentioned 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 that if tliey were going it would be well that they 
 should get ready to start as soon as they conveniently 
 could, since he had been told to return by ten if pos- 
 sible. Christopher quickly prepared himself and put a 
 new string or two into Faith's harp, by which time she 
 also was dressed ; and, wrapping up herself and her in- 
 strument safe from the night air, away they drove at 
 half-past nine. 
 
 ' Is it a large party ? ' said Christopher, as they 
 whizzed along. 
 
 ' No, sir ; it is what we call a dance — that is, 'tis 
 like a ball, you know, on a small scale — a ball on 
 a spurt, that you never thought of till you had it. In 
 short, it grew out of a talk at dinner, I believe ; and 
 some of the young people present wanted a jig, and 
 didn't care to play themselves, you know, young ladies 
 being an idle class of society at the best of times. 
 We've a house full of sleeping company, you under- 
 stand — been there a week some of 'em — most of 'em 
 being mistress's relations.' 
 
 ' They probably found it a little dull.' 
 
 * Well, yes — it is rather dull for 'em — Christmas 
 time and all. As soon as it was proposed they were 
 wild for sending post-haste for somebody or other to 
 play to them.' 
 
 ' Did they name me particularly?' said Christopher. 
 
 'Yes; " Mr. Christopher Julir.n,' she says. "The 
 gent who's turned music-man ? " I said. "Yes, that's 
 him," says she.' 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 51 
 
 ' There were music-men living nearer to your end 
 of the town than I.' 
 
 ' Yes, but I know it was you particular : though I 
 don't think mistress thought anything about you at 
 first. Mr. Joyce — that's the butler — said that your name 
 was mentioned to our old party, when he was in the 
 room, by a young lady staying with us, and mistress 
 says then, " The Julians have had a downfall, and the 
 son has taken to music." Then when dancing was 
 talked of, they said, " Oh let's have him by all means." ' 
 
 ' Was the young lady wlio first enquired for my 
 family the same one who said, " Let's have him by all 
 means " ? ' 
 
 ' Oh no ; but it was on account of her askino; that 
 the rest said they would like you to play — at least 
 that's as I had it from Joyce.' 
 
 ' Do you know that lady's name ? ' 
 
 ' JMrs. Petherwin.' 
 
 'Ah!' 
 
 'Cold, sir?' 
 
 ' Oh no.' 
 
 ' Bad corn, perhaps ? — they shoot terribly at change 
 of weather.' 
 
 ' They do.' 
 
 Christopher did not like to question the man any 
 further, though what lie h:id heard added new life to 
 his previous cmiosity ; and they drove along the wny 
 in silence, Faith's figure, wrapped up to the top of her 
 
 E 2 
 
52 THE HAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 head, cutting into tlie sky behind them Hke a sugar- 
 loaf, and the summit of the harp, wrapped up in the 
 same way, hke another. Such gates as crossed the 
 roads had been left open by the forethought of the 
 coachman, and, passing tlie lodge, they proceeded 
 about half a mile along a private drive, then as- 
 cended a rise, and came in view of the front of the 
 mansion, punctiured with windows that were now 
 mostly lighted up. 
 
 'What is that?' said Faith, catching a glimpse of 
 sometliing that the carriage-lamp showed on the face 
 of one wall as they passed, a marble bas-rehef of some 
 battle-piece, built into the stonework. 
 
 ' That's the scene of the death of one of the squire's 
 forefathers — Colonel Sir Martin Jones, who was killed 
 at the moment of victory in the battle of Salamanca — 
 but I haven't been here long enough to know the 
 rights of it. Wlien I am in one of my meditations, as 
 I wait here w^ith the carriage sometimes, I think how 
 many more get lulled at the moment of victory than at 
 the moment of defeat — 'tis one of the contradictions of 
 nature. This is the entrance for you, sir.' And he 
 turned the corner and pulled up before a side door. 
 
 They ahghted and went in, Christopher shouldering 
 Faith's harp, and she marching modestly behind, with 
 curly-eared music-books under her arm. They were 
 shown into the house-steward's room, and ushered 
 thence along a badly-lit passage and past a door within 
 
THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 53 
 
 which a hum and laughter were audible. The door 
 next to this was then opened for them, and they en- 
 tered. 
 
 Scarcely had Faith, or Christopher either, ever be- 
 held a more shining scene tlian was presented by the 
 saloon in which they now found themselves. Coming 
 direct from the gloomy park, and led to the room by that 
 back passage from the servants' quarter, the hght from 
 the chandelier and branches against the walls, striking 
 on gilding at all points, quite dazzled their sight for a 
 minute or two ; it caused Faith to. move forward with 
 lier eyes on the floor, and filled Christopher with an 
 impulse to turn back again into some dusky corner 
 where every thread of his not over-new dress suit — 
 rather moth-eaten through lack of feasts for airing it at 
 — could not be counted so easily. 
 
 He was soon seated before a grand piano, and Faith 
 sat down under the shadow of her harp, both being 
 arranged on a dais within an alcove at one end of the 
 room. A screen of ivy and holly had been constructed 
 across the front of this recess for the games of the 
 children on Christmas Eve, and it still remained there, 
 a small creep-hole being left for entrance and exit. 
 
 Then the merry guests tumbled through doors at 
 the further end, and dancing began. The mingling of 
 black-coated men and bright ladies gave a charming 
 appearance to the groups as seen by Faith and her 
 
54 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBEETA. 
 
 brother, tlie whole spectacle deriving an unexpected 
 novelty from the accident of reaching their eyes through 
 interstices in the tracery of green leaves, which added to 
 the picture a softness that it would not otherwise have 
 possessed. On the other hand, the musicians, having a 
 much weaker light, could hardly be discerned by the 
 performers in the dance. 
 
 The music was now rattling on, and the ladies in 
 their foam-like dresses were busily threading and spin- 
 ning about the floor, when Faith, casually looking up 
 into her brother's face, was surprised to see that a 
 change had come over it. At the end of the quadrille 
 he leant across to her before she had time to speak, and 
 said quietly, ' She's here ! ' 
 
 ' Who ? ' said Faith, for she had not heard the words 
 of the coachman. 
 
 ' Ethelberta.' 
 
 ' Then it was slie who wrote the book ? ' 
 
 ' It seems that it must have been.' 
 
 ' Which is she ? ' asked Faith, peeping through Avitb 
 the keenest interest. 
 
 ' The one who has the skirts of her dress looped up 
 with convolvulus flowers — the one with her hair fast- 
 ened in a sort of Yenus knot behind ; she has just been 
 dancing with that perfumed piece of a man t]:iey call 
 Mr. Ladywell— rit is he with the high eyebrows arched 
 like a girl's.' He added, with a wrinkled smile, ' I can- 
 not for my life see anybody answering to tlie character 
 
THE IIA^'D OF ETHELBERTA. 55 
 
 of husband to her, for every man takes notice of 
 her/ 
 
 They were interrupted by another dance being 
 called for, and then, his fingers tapping about upon the 
 keys as mechanically as fowls pecking at barleycorns, 
 Christopher gave himself up with a curious and far from 
 unalloyed pleasure to the occupation of watching 
 Ethelberta, now again crossing the field of his vision 
 like a returned comet whose characteristics were fast 
 becoming purely historical. She was a plump-armed 
 creature, with a white round neck as firm as a fort — 
 altogether a vigorous shape, as refreshing to the eye as 
 the green leaves througli which he beheld her. She 
 danced freely, and with a zest that was apparently 
 irrespective of partners. He had been waiting long to 
 hear her speak, and when at length her voice did reach 
 his ears, it was the revelation of a strange matter to find 
 how great a thing that small event had become to him. 
 He knew the old utterance — rapid but not frequent, 
 an obstructive thought causing sometimes a sudden halt 
 in the midst of a stream of words. But tlie features by 
 which a cool obierver would have singled her out from 
 others in his memory when asking himseh^ what she 
 was hke was a peculiar gaze into imaginary far-away 
 distance when making a quiet remark to a partner — 
 not with contracted eyes like a seafaring man, but with 
 an open full look — a remark in whicli little words in a 
 
56 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 low tone were made to express a great deal, as several 
 sinf^le g;cntlemeii afterwards found. 
 
 The production of dance-music when the criticising 
 stage among tlie dancers has passed, and they have 
 grown full of excitement and animal spirits, does not 
 require much concentration of thought in the producers 
 thereof; and desultory conversation accordingly went 
 on between Faith and her brother from time to time. 
 
 ' Kit,' she said on one occasion, ' are you looking at 
 the way in which the flowers are fastened to the leaves ? 
 -^-taking; a mean advantaixe of being at the back of the 
 tapestry ? You cannot think how you stare at them.' 
 
 ' I was looking through them — certainly not at them. 
 Paith, I have a feeling of being moved about like a 
 puppet in the hands of a person who legally can be 
 nothing to me ; and I cannot make up my mind 
 whether I like it or not.' 
 
 ' Your mover being^ that charming^ woman with the 
 shining bunch of hair and convolvuluses ? ' 
 
 ' Yes : it is through her that we are brought here, 
 and through her writing that poem, " Cancelled Words," 
 that the book was sent me, and through the accidental 
 renewal of acquaintance between us on Anglebur}^ 
 Heath, that she wrote the poem. I was, however, at 
 the moment you spoke, thinking more particularly of 
 the little teacher whom Ethelberta must have com- 
 missioned to send tlie book to me ; and wdiy that girl 
 was chosen to do it.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. bi 
 
 ' There may be a liiinclred reasons. Kit, I have 
 never yet seen her look once this way.' 
 
 Christopher had certainly not yet received look or 
 gesture from her; but his time came. It was while 
 he was for a moment outside the recess, and he caught 
 her in the act. She became slightly confused, turned 
 aside, and entered into conversation with a neighbour. 
 
 It was only a look, and yet what a look it Avas! One 
 may say of a look that it is capable of division into as 
 many species, families, tribes, orders, and classes as the 
 animal world itself; that it rules schools and parlia- 
 ments ; is the recognised medium of matrimonial lan- 
 guage in public, of pre-matrimonial language in private, 
 of honeymoon language in public and private both — and 
 is but a little thing after all. Christopher saw Ethel- 
 berta Petherwin's look — the well-known spark of light 
 upon the well-known depths of dark — and felt some- 
 thing going out of him wliich had gone out of him once 
 before : he could not tell what the end of it woukl be. 
 
 Thus continually beholding her and her companions 
 in the giddy whirl, the night wore on with the musi- 
 cians, last dances and more last dances being added, 
 till the intentions of the old on the matter were thrice 
 exceeded in the interests of the young. Watching the 
 couples whirl and turn, advance and recede as gently 
 as spirits, knot themselves like house-flies and part 
 again, and lullabied by the faint regular beat of their 
 footsteps to the tune, the players sank into the pecuHar 
 
58 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 mesmeric quiet wliicli comes over impressible people 
 who play for a great length of time in the midst of 
 dancers ; and at last the only noises that Christopher 
 took cognisance of were those of the exceptional kind, 
 breakinof above the general sea of sound — a casual 
 smart rustle of silk, a laugh, a stumble, the monosyl- 
 labic talk of those who happened to linger for a moment 
 close to the leafy screen — all coming to his ears like 
 voices from those old times when he had mingled in 
 similar scenes, not as servant but as guest. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 0*J 
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 AT THE WINDOW — THE ROAD HOME. 
 
 The dancing was over at last, and the radiant company 
 had left the room. A. long and weary night it had 
 been for the two players, though a stimulated interest 
 had hindered physical exhaustion in one of them for 
 a while. With tingling fingers and aching arms they 
 came out of the alcove into the long and deserted 
 apartment, now pervaded by a dry haze. The hghts 
 had burnt low, and Faith and her brother were waiting 
 by request till the waggonette was ready to take them 
 home, a breakfast being in course of preparation for 
 them meanwhile. 
 
 Christopher had crossed the room to relieve his 
 cramped limbs, and now, peeping through a crevice in 
 the window-curtains, he said suddenly, ' Who's for a 
 transformation scene ? Faith, look here ! ' 
 
 He touched the blind, u]^ it flew, and a gorgeous 
 scene presented itself to her eyes. A huge inflamed 
 sun was breasting the horizon of a wide sheet of sea 
 which, to her surprise and delight, the mansion over- 
 
60 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 looked. Tlie brilliant disc fired all the waves that lay 
 between it and the shore at the bottom of the grounds, 
 where the water tossed the ruddy hght from one undu- 
 lation to another in glares as large and clear as mirrors, 
 incessantly altering them, destroying them, and creating 
 them again ; while further off they multipHed, thick- 
 ened, and ran into one another like struggling armies 
 till they met the fiery source of them all. 
 
 ' Oh, how w^onderful it is ! ' said Faith, putting her 
 hand on Cliristopher's arm. ' Who knew that whilst 
 w^e were all shut in here with our puny illumination 
 such an exhibition as this was going on outside ! How 
 sorry and mean the grand and stately room looks 
 now ! ' 
 
 Christopher turned his back upon the window, and 
 there were the hitherto bea^^-ing candle-flames shining 
 no more radiantly than tarnished javelin-heads, while 
 the snow-white lengths of wax showed themselves 
 clammy and cadaverous as the fingers of a woman who 
 does nothino\ The leaves and flowers w^hicli had ap- 
 peared so very green and blooming by the artificial 
 hght were now seen to be faded and dusty. Only the 
 gilding of the room in some degree brought itself into 
 keeping with the splendours outside, stray darts of 
 light seizing upon it and lengthening themselves out 
 along fillet, quirk, arris, and moulding, till wasted 
 away. 
 
 ' It seems,' said Faith, ' as if all the people who 
 
THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. Gl 
 
 were lately so merry here had died : we ourselves look 
 no more tlian ghosts.' She turned up her weary face 
 to her brother's, which the incoming rays smote aslant, 
 making little furrows of every pore thereon, and shady 
 ravines of every little furrow. 
 
 ' You are very tired. Faith,' he said. ' Such a heavy 
 night's work has been almost too much for you.' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't mind that,' said Faith. 'But I could 
 not have played so long by myself.' 
 
 ' We filled up one another's gaps ; and there were 
 plenty of them towards the morning ; but, luckily^ 
 people don't notice those things when the small hours 
 draw on.' 
 
 ' What troubles me most,' said Faith, ' is not that I 
 have worked, but that you should be so situated as to 
 need such miserable assistance as mine. We are poor, 
 are we not. Kit ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, we know a little about poverty,' he replied m 
 as cheerful a tone as could be given to the opinion by 
 one wlio had been made to simmer so painfully over 
 the fires of that afiliction as had he. 
 
 While thus lingering — 
 
 In shadoAvy tliorouglifures of thought, 
 
 Faith interrupted with, ' I believe there is one of the 
 dancers now ! — why, I should have thought tliey had 
 all gone to bed and wouldn't get up again for days.' 
 She indicated to him a figure on the lawn towards the 
 
62 THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 left, looking upon the same flashing scene as that they 
 themselves beheld. 
 
 'It is yom' own particular one,' continued Faith. 
 ' Yes, I see the blue flowers under the edge of her 
 cloak.' 
 
 ' And I see her squirrel-coloured hair,' said Chris- 
 topher. 
 
 Both stood looking at this apparition, who once, 
 and only once, thought fit to turn lier head towards 
 the front of the house they were gazing from. Faith 
 was one in Avhom the meditative somewhat overpowered 
 the active faculties ; she went on, with no abundance 
 of love, to theorise upon this gratuitously charming 
 woman, wdio, striking freakishly into her brother's 
 path, seemed likely to do him no good in her sisterly 
 estimation. Ethelberta's bright and shapely form stood 
 before her critic now, smartened by the motes of sun- 
 lio-ht from head to heel : what Faith would have mven 
 to see her so clearly within ! 
 
 'Without doubt she is already a lady of many 
 experiences,' she said dubiously. 
 
 ' And on the way to many more,' said Christopher ; 
 ' perhaps forming altogether a romance curiously built 
 up, and fitted out with circumstance, crisis, and catas- 
 trophe, in the regular way — many men's names possibly 
 written even now as doomed to be again wrought in 
 with it.' The tone was just of the kind which may be 
 
THE HAXD OF ETHELEERTA. 63 
 
 imagined of a sorabre man wlio had been up all night 
 piping that others might dance. 
 
 Faith parted her lips as if in consternation at pos- 
 sibilities. Ethelberta, having already become an influ- 
 ence in Christopher's system, might soon become more 
 — an indestructible fascination — to drag him about, turn 
 his soul inside out, harrow him, twist him, and other- 
 wise torment him, according to the stereotyped form 
 of such processes. ' Never ! ' exclaimed the youngest 
 of old maids, quivering. 
 
 ' What does that mean ? ' 
 
 ' I hardly know what ; what are poetically called 
 shadows, lights, fancies — in fact, nothing, dear Kit.' 
 
 They were interrupted by the opening of a door. 
 A servant entered and came up to them. 
 
 ' This is for you, I believe, su%' he said. ' Two 
 guineas ; ' and he placed the money in Christopher's 
 hand. ' Some breakfast will be ready for you in a 
 moment if you like to have it. Would you wish it 
 brought in here ; or will you come to the steward's 
 room ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, we will come.' And the man then beo;an to 
 extinguish the lights one by one. Christopher dropped 
 the two pounds and two shillings singly into his pocket, 
 and looking listlessly at the footman said, ' Can you tell 
 me the address of that lady on the lavrn ? All, she has 
 disappeared ! ' 
 
 ' She wore a dress with blue flowers,' said Faith. 
 
64 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ' And remarkable brigtiit in her manner ? Oh, that's 
 the young widow, Mrs.— what's that name — I forget 
 for the moment.' 
 
 ' Widow ? ' said Christopher, the eyes of his under- 
 standing getting wonderfully clear, and Faith uttering 
 a private ejaculation of thanks that after all no com- 
 mandments were likely to be broken in this matter. 
 ' The lady I mean is quite a girlish sort of woman.' 
 
 'Yes, yes, so she is — that's the one. Coachman 
 says she must have been born a widow, for there is not 
 time for her ever to have been made one. However, 
 she's not quite such a chicken as all that. Mrs. Pether- 
 win, that's the party's name.' 
 
 ' Does she live here ? ' 
 
 ' No, she is staying in the house visiting for a few 
 da3's with her mother-in-law. They are a London 
 family ; I don't know her address.' 
 
 ' Is she a poetess ? ' 
 
 ' That I cannot say. She is very clever at verses ; 
 but she don't lean over gates to see the sun, and goes 
 to church as regular as you or I, so I should hardly be 
 inclined to say that she's the complete thing. When 
 she's up in one of her vagaries she'll sit with the ladies 
 and make up pretty things out of her head as fast as 
 sticks a-breaking. They will run off her tongue like 
 cotton from a reel, and if she can ever be got in the mind 
 of telling a story she will bring it out that serious and 
 awful that it makes your flesh creep upon your bones ; 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 65 
 
 if she's only got to say that she walked out of one door 
 into another, she'll tell it so that there seems somethinor 
 wonderful in it. 'Tis a bother to start her, so our 
 people say behind her back, but, once set going, the 
 house is all alive with her. However, it will soon be 
 dull enough ; she and Lady Petherwin are off to-mor- 
 row for Eookington, where I believe they are going 
 to stay over New Year's day.' 
 
 ' ¥/here do you say they are going ? ' enquired 
 Christopher, as they followed the footman. 
 
 ' Eookington Park — about three miles out of Sand- 
 bourne, in the opposite direction to this.' 
 
 ' A widow,' Christopher murmured. 
 
 Faith overheard him. 'That makes no difference 
 to us, does it ? ' she said wistfully. 
 
 Forty minutes later they were driving along an 
 open road over a ridge which commanded a view of a 
 small inlet below them, the sands of this nook being 
 sheltered by white cliffs. Here at once they saw, in 
 the full light of the sun, two women standing side by 
 side, their faces directed over the sea. 
 
 ' There she is again ! ' said Faith. ' She has walked 
 along the shore from tlie lawn where we saw her 
 ])efore.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said the coachman, ' she's a curious woman 
 seemingly. She'll talk to any poor body she meets. 
 You see she had been out for a morning walk instead 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 of going to bod, and tliat is some queer mortal or other 
 she has picked up with on her way.' 
 
 ' I wonder she does not prefer some rest,' Faith 
 observed. 
 
 The road then dropped into a hollow, and the 
 women by the sea were no longer wdthin view from 
 the carriage, which rapidly neared Sandbourne with 
 the two musicians. 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. G7 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SHORE BY WYNDWAY. 
 
 The east gleamed upon Etbelberta's squirrel-coloured 
 ■hair as she said to her compauion, ' I have come, 
 Picotee ; but not, as you imagine, from a night's sleep. 
 We have actually been dancing till dayhght at Wynd- 
 way.' 
 
 ' Then you should not have troubled to come ! I 
 could have borne the disappointment under such cir- 
 ■cumstances,' said the pupil-teacher, who, wearing a 
 ^ress not so familiar to Christopher's eyes as had been 
 the little white jacket, had not been recognised by 
 him from the hill. ' You look so tired, Berta. I 
 could not stay up all night for the world ! ' 
 
 ' One gets used to these things,' said Ethelberta, 
 quietly. ' I should have been in bed certainly, had I not 
 particularly witched to use this opportunity of meeting 
 you before you go home to-morrow. I could not have 
 come to Sandbourne to-day, because we are leaving to 
 return again to Rookington. This is all that I wish 
 you to take to mother — only a few little things which 
 may be useful to her ; but you will see what it contains 
 
68 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 Avhen you open it.' She handed to Picotee a small 
 parcel. ' This is for yourself,' she went on, giving a 
 small packet besides. ' It will pay your fare home 
 and back, and leave you something to spare.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Picotee, docilely. 
 
 ' Now, Picotee,' continued the elder, ' let us talk 
 for a few minutes before I go back : we may not meet 
 again for some time.' She put her arm round the 
 waist of Picotee, who did the same by Ethelberta ; and 
 thus interlaced they walked backwards and forwards 
 upon the firm fiat sand with the motion of one body 
 animated by one will. 
 
 ' Well, what did you think of my poems ? ' 
 
 ' I liked them ; but naturally, I did not understand 
 all the experience you describe. It is so different from 
 mine. Yet that made them more interesting to me. 
 I thought I should so much like to mix in the same 
 scenes ; but that of course is impossible.' 
 
 ' I am afraid it is. And you posted the book as I 
 said ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' She added hurriedly, as if to change the 
 subject, ' I have told nobody that we are sisters, or 
 that you are known in any way to me or to mother or 
 to any of us. I thought that would be best, from 
 what you said.' 
 
 ' Yes, perhaps it is best for the present.' 
 
 ' The box of clothes came safely, and I find very 
 little alteration will be necessary to make the dress do 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 69 
 
 beautifully for me on Sundays. It is quite new-fiisli- 
 ioned to me, tliougii I suppose it was old-fashioned to 
 you. Oh, and Berta, will the title of Lady Petherwin 
 descend to you when your mother-in-law dies ? ' 
 
 ' Ko, of course not. She is only a knight's widow, 
 and that's nothing.' 
 
 ' The lady of a knight looks as good on paper as 
 the lady of a lord.' 
 
 ' Yes. And in other places too sometimes. How- 
 ever, about your journey home. Be very careful ; and 
 don't make any enquiries at the stations of anybody 
 but officials. If any man wsmis to be friendly with 
 you, try to find out if it is from a genuine wish to 
 assist you, or from admiration of your fresh face.' 
 
 ' How shall I know which ? ' said Picotee. 
 
 Ethelberta laughed. ' If Heaven does not teU you 
 at the moment I cannot,' she said. ' But humanity 
 looks with a different eye from love, and upon the whole 
 it is most to be prized by all of us. I believe it ends 
 oftener in marriage than do a lover's flying smiles. So 
 that for this and other reasons love from a stranger is 
 as worthless as a speculation as it is dangerous as a 
 game. Well, Picotee, has anyone paid you real atten- 
 tions yet ? ' 
 
 ' Xo— that is ' 
 
 ' There is something going on.' 
 
 ' Only a wee bit.' 
 
 ' I thought so. There was a dishonesty about your 
 
70 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 dear eyes which has never been there iDefore, and 
 love-making and dishonesty are inseparable as coupled 
 hounds. Up comes man, and away goes innocence. 
 Are you going to tell me anything about him ? ' 
 
 ' I would rather not, Ethelberta ; because it is 
 hardly anything.' 
 
 ' Well, be careful. And mind this, never tell him 
 what you feel.' 
 
 'But then he w^ill never know it.' 
 
 'Nor must he. He must think it only. The 
 difference between his thinking and knowing is often 
 the difference between your winning and losing. But 
 general advice is not of much use, and I cannot give 
 more unless you tell more. What is his name?' 
 
 Picotee did not reply. 
 
 ' l!^ever mind : keep your secret. However, listen 
 to this : not a kiss — not so much as the shadow, hint, 
 or merest seedhng of a kiss ! ' 
 
 ' There is no fear of it,' murmured Picotee ; ' though 
 not because of me I ' 
 
 ' You see, my dear Picotee, a lover is not a relative ; 
 nor is he quite a stranger ; but he may end in being 
 either, and the way to reduce him to whichever of 
 the tw^o you wish him to be is to treat him like the 
 other. Men wdio come courting are like bad cooks ; if 
 you are kind to them, instead of ascribing it to an 
 exceptional courtesy on your part, they instantly set 
 it down to a marvellous worth on theirs.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 71 
 
 ' But I ouglit to favour him just a little, poor thing ? 
 Just the smallest glimmer of a gleam ! ' 
 
 ' Only a very little indeed — so that your words 
 come as a relief to his misery, not as additions to his 
 happiness.' 
 
 ' It is being too clever, all this ; and we ought to 
 be harmless as doves.' 
 
 'Ah, Picoteel to continue harmless as a dove you 
 must be wise as a serpent, you'll find — ay, ten serpents, 
 for that matter.' 
 
 ' But if I cannot get at [him, how can I manage 
 him in these ways you speak of ? ' 
 
 ' Get at him ? I suppose he gets at you in some 
 way, does he not? — tries to see you, or to be near 
 you?' 
 
 ' No — that's just the point — he doesn't do any such 
 thing, and there's the worry of it ! ' 
 
 ' Well, what a silly girl ! Then he is not your lover 
 at all?' 
 
 'Perhaps he's not. But I am his, at any rate — 
 twice over.' 
 
 'That's no use. Furnish feeling for both sides? 
 Why it's worse than furnishing money for both. You 
 don't suppose a man will give his heart in exchange for 
 a woman's when he has already got hers for nothing ? 
 That's not the way old Adam does business at all. If 
 this interesting man of j^ours neither pities you when 
 he is cool, blesses you when he is warm, nor curses you 
 
72 THE HAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 when lie is hot, think no more of hhn, for he'll never 
 marry you.' 
 
 Picotee sighed. ' Have you got a young man. too, 
 Berta?' 
 
 ' A young man ? ' 
 
 ' A lover I mean — that's what we call 'em down 
 here.' 
 
 ' It is difficult to explain,' said Ethelberta evasively. 
 ' I knew one many years- ago, and I have seen him 
 again, and — that is all.' 
 
 ' According to my idea you have one, but accord- 
 ing to your own you have not ; he does not love you, 
 but you love him — is that how it is ? ' 
 
 ' I have not quite considered how it is.' 
 
 ' Do you love him ? ' 
 
 ' I have never seen a man I hate less.' 
 
 ' A great deal hes covered up there, I expect ! ' 
 
 ' He was in that carriage which drove over the hill 
 at the moment we met here.' 
 
 ' Ah-ah — some great lord or another who has his 
 day by candle-light, and so on. I guess the style. 
 Somebody who no more knows how much bread is a 
 loaf than I do the price of diamonds and pearls.' 
 
 ' I am afraid he's only a commoner as yet, and not 
 a very great one either. But surely you guess, Picotee ? 
 But I'll set you an example of frankness by telhng his 
 name. My friend, LIr. Julian, to whom you posted 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 73 
 
 the book. Sucli changes as he has seen ! — from afflu- 
 ence to poverty. He and his sister liave been playing 
 dances all night at Wyndway — What is the matter ? ' 
 
 ' Only a pain ! ' 
 
 ' My dear Picotee ' 
 
 ' I think I'll sit down for a moment, Berta/ 
 
 ' What — have you over- walked yourself, dear ? ' 
 
 <- Yes — and I got up very early, you see.' 
 
 ' I hope you are not going to be ill, child. You 
 look as if you ought not to be here.' 
 
 ' Oh, it is quite trifling. Does not getting up in a 
 hurry cause a sense of faintuess sometimes ? ' 
 
 * Yes, in people who are not strong.' 
 
 ' If we don't talk about being feint it will go off. 
 Faintness is such a queer thing that to think of it is to 
 have it. Let us talk as we were talking before — about 
 your young man and other indifferent matters, so as to 
 divert my thoughts from fainting, dear J3erta. I have 
 always thought the book was to be forwarded to 
 that gentleman because he was a connection of yours 
 by marriage, and he had asked for it. And so you 
 have met this — this Mr. Julian, and gone for walks 
 with him in evenings, I suppose, just as young men and 
 women do who are courting ? ' 
 
 ' No, indeed — what an absurd child you are ! ' said 
 Ethelberta. ' I knew him once, and he is interesting ; 
 a few little things like that make it all up.' 
 
74 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ' The love is all on one side, as with me.' 
 
 ' Oh, no, no : there is nothing like that. I am not 
 attached to anyone, strictly speaking —though, more 
 strictly speaking, I am not unattached.' 
 
 ' 'Tis a delightful middle mind to be in. I know it, 
 for I was like it once ; but I had scarcely been so long 
 enough to know where I was before I was gone past.' 
 
 'You should have commanded yourself, or drawn 
 back entirely ; for let me tell you that at the beginning 
 of caring for a man — just when you are suspended 
 between thinking and feeling — there is a hair's breadth 
 of time at which the question of getting into love or 
 not getting in is a matter of will — quite a thing of 
 choice. At the same time, drawing back is a tame 
 dance, and the best of all is to stay balanced awhile.' 
 
 ' You do that well, I'll warrant.' 
 
 ' Well, no ; for what betAveen continually wanting 
 to love, to escape the blank lives of those who do not, 
 and wanting not to love, to keep out of the miseries of 
 those wdio do, I get foolishly w^arm and foolishly cold 
 by turns.' 
 
 'Yes — and I am like you as far as the "foohshly" 
 goes. I wish we poor girls could contrive to bring a 
 little wisdom into our love by way of a change ! ' 
 
 ' That's the very thing that leading minds in town 
 have begun to do, but there are difficulties. It is easy 
 to love wisely, but the rich man may not marry you ; 
 and it is not very hard to reject wisely, but the poor 
 
THE IIATs^D OF ETIIELBERTA. 75 
 
 man doesirt care. Altogether it is a precious problem. 
 But shall we clamber out upon those shining blocks of 
 rock, and find some of the httle yellow shells that are 
 in the crevices? I have ten minutes longer, and then 
 I must go.' 
 
76 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 the dining-room of a town house — the 
 butler's pantry. 
 
 A FEW weeks later there was a friendly dinner-party at 
 the house of a gentleman called Doncastle, who lived 
 in a moderately fashionable square of west London. 
 All the friends and relatives present were nice people* 
 who exhibited becoming signs of pleasure and gaiety 
 at being there ; but as regards the vigour witli whicli 
 these emotions were expressed, it may be stated that a 
 slight laugh from far down the throat and a slight 
 narrowing of the eye Avere equivalent as indices of the 
 degree of murth felt to a Ha-ha-ha ! and a shaking of 
 the shoulders among the minor traders of the kingdom ; 
 and to a Ho-ho-ho! contorted features, purple face, 
 and a stamping foot among the gentlemen in corduroy 
 and fustian who adorn the remoter provinces. 
 
 The conversation was chiefly about a volume of 
 musical, tender, and humorous rhapsodies lately issued 
 to the world in the guise of verse, which had been 
 reviewed and talked about everywhere. This topic, 
 beginning as a private dialogue between a young 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 77 
 
 painter named Ladywell and the lady on his right 
 hand, had enlarged its ground by degrees, as a subject 
 will extend on those rare occasions when it happens to 
 be one about which each person has thought something 
 beforehand, instead of, as in the natural order of 
 things, one to which the oblivious listener replies me- 
 chanically, with earnest features, but with thoughts 
 far away. And so the whole table made the matter a 
 thing to enquire or reply upon at once, and isolated 
 rills of other chat died out like a river in the sands. 
 
 ' Witty things, and occasionally Anacreontic : and 
 they have the originality which such a style must 
 naturally possess when carried out by a feminine hand,' 
 said Ladywell. 
 
 ' If it is a feminine hand,' said a man near. 
 
 Ladywell looked as if he sometimes knew secrets, 
 tliough he did not wish to boast, and made no answer. 
 
 'Written, I presume you mean, in the Anacreontic 
 measure of three feet and a half — spondees and 
 iambics ? ' said a gentleman in spectacles, glancing 
 round, and giving emphasis to his enquiry by causing 
 bland glares of a circular shape to proceed from Ins 
 glasses towards the person interrogated. 
 
 The company appeared willing to give consider- 
 ation to the words of a man who knew such thir.gs as 
 that, and hung forward to listen. But Ladywell 
 stopped the whole current of affairs in that direction 
 by saying— 
 
78 THE ITAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' 110 ; I was speaking rather of the matter and 
 tone. In fact, the "Seven Days' Eeview" said they were 
 .-Vnacreontic, you know ; and so they are — anyone may 
 feel they are.' 
 
 The general look then implied a false encourage- 
 ment, and the man in spectacles looked down again, 
 being a nervous person, Avho never had time to show 
 his merits because lie was so much occupied in hiding 
 his faults. 
 
 ' Do you know the authoress, Mr. I^eigh ? ' con- 
 tinued Lady well. 
 
 ' Can't say that I do,' he replied. 
 
 !N'ei2[h was a man who never disturbed the flesli 
 upon his face except when he was obhged to do so, and 
 paused semicolons where other people only paused 
 commas ; as he moved his chin in speaking, motes of 
 light from under the candle-shade caught, lost, and 
 caught again the outlying threads of his burnished 
 beard. 
 
 ' She will be famous some day ; and you ought at 
 any rate to read her book.' 
 
 ' Yes, I ought, I know. In fact, some years ago 
 I should have done it immediately, because I had a 
 reason for pushing on that way just then.' 
 
 *Ah, what was that? ' 
 
 'Well, I thought of going in for Westminster 
 Abbey myself at that time ; but a fellow has so much 
 to do, and ' 
 
THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 79 
 
 ' What a pity that you didn't follow it up. A man 
 of your powers, Mr. Xeigh ' 
 
 'Afterwards I found I was too steady for it, and 
 had too much of the respectable householder in me. 
 Besides, so many other men are on the same tack. 
 Jolland, and Snooks, and Brown, and Chummins, and 
 several more I knew were all that way inclined, and 
 gave up paymg their bills, and threw away their 
 brushes and combs, and did no end of preliminary 
 things of that sort ; and then I didn't care about it, 
 somehow.' 
 
 ' How is Jolland getthig on ? ' 
 
 ' I have not heard since he shut himself up and left 
 off mankind.' 
 
 ' I don't understand high art, and am utterly in the 
 dark on what are the true laws of criticism,' a plain 
 married lady, who wore archaeological jewellery, was 
 saying at this time. ' But I know that I have derived 
 an unusual amount of amusement from those verses, 
 and I am heartily thankful to " Me " for them.' 
 
 ' I am afraid,' said a gentleman who was suffering 
 from a bad shirt-front, ' that an estimate which depends 
 upon feeling in that way is not to be trusted as per- 
 manent opinion.' 
 
 The subject now flitted to the other end. 
 
 ' Somebody has it that when the heart 'flies out 
 before the understanding, it saves the judgment a 
 world of pains,' came from a voice in that quarter. 
 
80 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ' I, for my part, like something merry,' said an 
 elderly woman, whose face was bisected by the edge of 
 a shadow, which toned her forehead and eyelids to a 
 livid neutral tint, and left her cheeks and mouth like 
 metal at a white heat in the uninterrupted light. ' I 
 think the liveliness of those ballads as great a recom- 
 mendation as any. After all, enough misery is known 
 to us by our experiences and those of our friends, and 
 what we see in the newspapers, for all purposes of 
 chastening, without having gratuitous grief inflicted 
 upon us.' 
 
 ' But you would not have wished that " Eomeo and 
 Juliet" should have ended happily, or that Othello 
 should have discovered the perfidy of his Ancient in 
 time to prevent all fatal consequences ? ' 
 
 ' I am not afraid to go so far as that,' said the old 
 lady. ' Shakespeare is not everybody, and I am sure 
 that thousands of people who have seen those plays 
 would have driven home more cheerfully afterwards if 
 by some contrivance the characters could all have been 
 joined together respectively. I uphold our anonymous 
 author on the general ground of her levity.' 
 
 ' Well, it is an old and worn argument — that about 
 the inexpedience of tragedy — and much may be said 
 on both sides. It is not to be denied that the anony- 
 mous Sappho's verses — for it seems that she is really a 
 woman — are clever.' 
 
 ' Clever ! ' said Ladywell — the young man with 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 81 
 
 the crescent eyebrows — ' they are marvellously bril- 
 liant/ 
 
 ' She is rather warm in her assumed character/ 
 
 ' That's a sign of her actual coldness ; she lets off 
 her feeling in theoretic grooves, and there is sure to be 
 none left for practical ones. Whatever seems to be the 
 most prominent vice, or the most prominent virtue, in 
 anybody's writing is the one thing you are safest from 
 in personal dealings with the writer/ 
 
 'Oh, I don't mean to call her warmth of feeling a 
 vice or virtue exactly ' 
 
 ' I agree with you,' said I^eigh to the last speaker 
 but one, in tones as emphatic as they possibly could be 
 without losing their proper character of indifference 
 to the whole matter. ' Warm sentiment of any sort, 
 Avhenever we have it, disturbs us too much to leave us 
 repose enough for writing it down/ 
 
 ' I am sure, when I was at the ardent age,' said the 
 mistress of the house, in a tone of pleasantly agreeing 
 with everyone, particularly those who were diametrically 
 opposed to each other, ' I could no more have printed 
 such emotions and made them public than I — could 
 have helped privately feeling them/ 
 
 ' I wonder if she has gone through half she says ? 
 If so, what an experience ! ' 
 
 ' O no — not at all likely,' said Mr. Neigh. ' It is 
 as risky to calculate people's ways of living from their 
 writings as their incomes from their way of living.' 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 Till-: IIA>'D OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' She is as true to nature as fashion is false,' saidthe 
 ])ainter, in his warmth becoming scarcely complimen- 
 tary, as sometimes happens with young persons. ' I 
 don't think that she has m'itten a word more than 
 what every woman would deny feeling in a society 
 where no woman says what she means or does what 
 she says. And can any praise be greater than 
 that?' 
 
 'Ha-ha! Capital!' 
 
 ' All her verses seem to me,' said a rather stupid 
 person, ' to be simply — 
 
 Tral'-la-la-lal'-la-la-la', 
 Trar-la-la-Ial'-la-la-lu', 
 Tral'-la-la-lar-la-la-lalla, 
 Tral'-la-la-lu'. 
 
 When you take away the music there is nothing left. 
 Yet she is plainly a woman of great culture.' 
 
 ' Have you seen what the " London Light " says about 
 them — one of the finest things I have ever read in the 
 way of admiration ? ' continued Ladywell, papng no 
 attention to the previous speaker. He Hngered for a 
 reply, and then impulsively quoted several lines from 
 the periodical he had named, without aid or hesitation. 
 ' Good, is it not ? ' added Ladywell. 
 
 They assented, but in such an unqualified manner 
 that half as much readiness would have meant more. 
 But Ladywell, though not experienced enough to be 
 quite free from enthusiasm, was too experienced to 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 83 
 
 iiiiiid iiidifTerence for more than a minute or two. 
 When the ladies had withdrawn, the young man 
 went on — 
 
 ' Colonel Staff said a funny thing to me yesterday 
 nbout these very poems. He asked me if I knew her, 
 und ' 
 
 ' Her ? Why, he knows that it is a lady all the 
 time, and we were only just now doubting whether 
 the sex of the writer could be really what it seems. 
 .Shame, Ladywell ! ' said his friend JSTeigh. 
 
 ' Ah, Mr. Ladywell,' said another, ' now we have 
 found you out. You know her ! ' 
 
 ' JSTow — I say — ha-ha ! ' continued the painter, with 
 a face expressing that he had not at all tried to be 
 found out as the man possessing incomparably superior 
 knowledge of the poetess. ' I beg pardon really, but 
 don't press me on the matter. Upon my word the 
 secret is not my own. As I was saying, the Colonel 
 said, "Do you know her.^" — but you don't care to 
 hear ? ' 
 
 ' We shall be delighted ! ' 
 
 ' So the Colonel said, " Do you know her?" adding, 
 in a most comic way, " Between you and 3Ie, Ladywell, 
 I beheve there is a secret tie strong as death" — mean- 
 ing her, you know, by 3Ie. Just like the Colonel — 
 ha-ha-ha ! ' 
 
 The older men did not oblige Ladywell a second 
 time with any attempt at appreciation ; but a weird 
 
84 THE HAND OF ETllELBERTA. 
 
 silence ensuecl, diiring wliicli the smile upon Lady well's 
 face became frozen to painful permanence. 
 
 ' Meaning by Me^ you know, the "Me" of the poems 
 — heh-lieh ! ' he repeated. 
 
 ' It was a very hmnorous incident certainly,' said 
 his friend Neigh, at which there w^as a laugli — not from 
 anything connected with what he said, but simply be- 
 cause it was the right thing to laugh wdien Neigh meant 
 you to do so. 
 
 'Now don't, Neigh — you are too hard upon me. 
 Eut, seriously, two or three fellows were there when I 
 said it, and they all began laughing — but, then, the 
 Colonel said it in such a queer way, you know. But 
 you were asking me about her? Well, the fact is^ 
 between ourselves, I do knov\r that she is a lady ; and 
 I don't mind telling a word ' 
 
 'But we w^ould not for the world be the means of 
 making you betray her confidence — would we, Jones ? *" 
 
 'No, indeed ; we w^ould not.' 
 
 ' No, no ; it is not that at all — this is really too bad f 
 — you must hsten just for a moment ' 
 
 ' Ladywell, don't betray anybody on our account.' 
 
 ' Whoever the illustrious young lady may be she 
 lias seen a great deal of the world,' said Mr. Doncastle, 
 blandly, ' and puts her experience of the comedy of its 
 emotions, and of its method of showing them, in a very 
 vivid light.' 
 
 ' I heard a man say that the novelty with which the 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 85 
 
 ideas are presented is more noticeable than the origi- 
 nality of the ideas themselves,' observed IsTeigh. ' The 
 woman has made a great talk about herself; and I am 
 quite weary of people asking of her condition, place of 
 abode, has she a father, has she a mother, or dearer one 
 yet than all other.' 
 
 ' I would have burlesque quotation put down by 
 Act of Parliament, and all who dabble in it placed v/ith 
 him who can cite Scripture for his purposes,' said Lady- 
 well, in retaliation. 
 
 After a pause Neigh remarked half-privately to their 
 host, who was his uncle : ' Your butler Cbickerel is a 
 very intelligent man, as I have heard.' 
 
 ' Yes, he does very well,' said Mr. Doncastle. 
 
 ' But is he not a — very extraordinary man ? ' 
 
 ' ISTot to my knowledge,' said Doncastle, looking up 
 surprised. ' Why do you think that, Alfred ? ' 
 
 ' Well, perhaps it was not a matter to mention. He 
 reads a great deal, I dare say ? ' 
 
 ' I don't think so.' 
 
 ' I noticed how wonderfully his face kindled when 
 we began talking about the poems. Perhaps he is a 
 poet liimself in disguise. Did you observe it ? ' 
 
 ' No. To the best of my belief he is a very trust- 
 worthy and honourable man. He has been witli us — 
 let me see, how long ? — five months, I think, and lie 
 was fifteen years in his last place. ^ It certainly is a new 
 side to his character if he publicly showed any in- 
 
86 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 terest in the conversation, whatever he might have 
 felt; 
 
 ' Since the matter has been mentioned,' said Mr. 
 Jones, ' I may say that I too noticed the singularity 
 of it.' 
 
 ' If you had not said otherwise,' rephed Doncastle, 
 somewhat warmly, ' I should have asserted him to be 
 the last man-servant in London to infringe such an 
 elementary rule. If he did so this evening, it is certainly 
 for the first time, and I sincerel}^ hope that no annoy- 
 ance was caused ' 
 
 ' no, no — not at all — it might have been a mistake 
 of mine,' said Jones. ' I should quite have forgotten 
 the circumstance if Mr. !N"ei2[h's words had not brous^ht 
 it to my mind. It was really nothing to notice, and I 
 beg that you will not say a word to him about it on my 
 account.' 
 
 ' He has a taste that Avay, my dear uncle, nothing 
 more, depend upon it,' said Xeigh. ' If I had such a 
 man belonging to me I should only be too proud. 
 Certainly do not mention it.' 
 
 ' Of course Chickerel is Chickerel,' Mr. Doncastle 
 rejoined. ' We all know what that means. And really^ 
 on reflecting, I do remember that he is of a literary 
 turn of mind — not further by an inch than is commend- 
 able, you know. I am quite aware as I glance down 
 the papers and prints any morning that Chickerer& 
 eyes have been over the ground before mme, and that 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 87 
 
 he generally forestalls the rest of us by a chapter or so 
 in the last new book sent home ; but in these vicious 
 days that particular weakness is really virtue, just be- 
 cause it is not quite a vice.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Mr. Jones, the reflective man in spec- 
 tacles, ' positive virtues are getting moved off the stage : 
 negative ones are moved on to the place of positives ; 
 we thank bare justice as we used only to thank gene- 
 rosity ; call a man honest Avho steals only by law, and 
 consider him a benefactor if he does not steal at all.' 
 
 ' Hear, hear ! ' said Neigh. ' We will decide that 
 Chickerel is even a better trained fellow than if he had 
 shown no interest at all in his face.' 
 
 ' The action beinc^ like those triflin^^ irreo'ularities 
 in art at its vigorous periods, which seemed designed to 
 hide the unpleasant monotony of absolute symmetry,' 
 said Ladywell. 
 
 ' On the other hand, an affected want of trainim^ of 
 that sort would be even a better disg-uise for an artful 
 man than a perfectly impassible demeanour. He is two 
 removes from discovery in a hidden scheme, whilst a 
 neutral face is only one.' 
 
 'You quite alarm me by these spacious theories,' 
 said Mr. Doncastle, laughing; and the subject then 
 became compounded with other matters, till the speak- 
 ers rose to rejoin the charming flock upstairs. 
 
 In the basement story at this hour Mr. Chickerel 
 
88 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 tlie butler, vrho liad formed the subject of discussion on 
 the floor above, was busily engaged in looking after his 
 two subordinates as they bustled about in the operations 
 of clearing away. He was a man of whom, if the shape 
 of certain bones and muscles of the face is ever to be 
 taken as a ojuide to the character, one mic^ht safelv have 
 predicated conscientiousness in the performance of duties, 
 a thorough knowledge of all that appertained to them, 
 a general desire to live on without troubling his mind 
 about anything whicli did not concern him. Any 
 person mterested in the matter would have assumed 
 without hesitation that the estimate liis employer had 
 given of Chickerel was a true one — more, that not 
 only would the butler under all ordinary circum- 
 stances resolutely prevent his face from showing curiosity 
 in an unbecoming ^\'ay, but that, with the soul of a 
 true gentleman, he would, if necessary, equivocate as 
 readily as the noblest of his betters to remove any 
 stain upon his honour in such trifles. Hence it is 
 apparent that if Chickerel's countenance really ap- 
 peared, as N"eigh had asserted, full of curiosity with 
 regard to the gossip that was going on, the feelings 
 which led to the exhibition must have been of a very 
 unusual and irrepressible kind. 
 
 His hair was of that peculiar bluish- white which is to 
 be observed when the oncoming years, instead of singling 
 out special locks of a man's head for operating against, 
 advance uniformlv over the whole field, and enfeeble 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 89 
 
 the colour at all points before absolutely extinguisliing 
 it anywhere ; his nose was of the knotty shape in the 
 gristle and earthward tendency in the flesh which is 
 commonly said to carry sound judgment above it, his 
 eyes were thoughtful, and his face was thin — a con- 
 tour which, if it at once abstracted from his features 
 that cheerful assurance of singleminded honesty which 
 adorns the exteriors of so many of his brethren, might 
 have raised a presumption in the minds of some be- 
 holders that perhaps in this case the quality might not 
 be altogether wanting within. 
 
 The coffee having been served to the people up- 
 stau-s, one of the footmen rushed into his bedroom on 
 the lower floor, and in a few minutes emerged again in 
 the dress of a respectable clerk who had been born 
 for better things, with the trifling exceptions that he 
 wore a low-crow^ied hat, and instead of knocking his 
 heels on the pavement walked with a gait as dehcate 
 as a lady's. Going out of the area-door with a cigar in 
 his mouth, he mounted the steps hastily to keep an 
 appointment round the corner — the keeping of which 
 as a private gentleman necessitated the change of 
 the greater part of his clothes twice v/ithin a quarter 
 of an hour — the limit of his time of absence. The 
 other footman was upstairs, and the butler, finding 
 that he had a few minutes to himself, sat down at the 
 table and wrote : — 
 
90 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ' My clear Etlielberta, — I did not intend to write 
 to you for some few days to come, but the way in 
 wdiicli you have been talked about here this evening 
 makes me anxious to send a line or two at once, 
 tliougli I have very little time to spare, as usual. We 
 have just had a dinner-party — indeed the carriages 
 liave not vet been broudit round — and the talk at 
 dinner was about your verses, of course. The thing 
 was brought up by a young fellow named Ladywell 
 — do you know him ? He is a painter by profes- 
 sion, but he has a pretty good private income be- 
 yond what he gets by practising his line of business 
 among the nobility, and that I expect is not little, for 
 he is well known, and encouraged because he is young, 
 and good-looking, and so forth. His family own a 
 good bit of land somewhere out Norfolk way. How- 
 ever, I am before my story. From what they all said 
 it is pretty clear that you are tliought a great deal of 
 in fashionable society as a poetess — but perhaps you 
 know this as well as I — moving in it as you do your- 
 self, my dear. 
 
 ' The ladies afterwards got very curious about your 
 age, so curious in fact, and so full of certainty that 
 you were thirty-five and a blighted existence, if an 
 hour, that I felt inclined to rap out there and then, 
 and hang what came of it : " My daughter, ladies, was 
 to my own and her mother's certain knowledge only 
 twenty-one last birthday, and has as bright a heart as 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 91 
 
 anybody in London." A smart tliimdeibolt like that 
 is almost worth a servant's place sometimes, considering 
 the good it does his soul. One of them actually said 
 that you must be fifty to have got such an experience. 
 Her guess was a very shrewd one in the bottom of it, 
 however, for it was grounded upon the way you use 
 those strange experiences of mine in the society that I 
 tell you of, and dress them up as if they were yours ; 
 and, as you see, she hit off my own age to a year. I 
 thought it was very sharp of her to be so right although 
 so ^vrong. 
 
 ' I do not want to influence your plans in any way 
 about things which your school learning fits you to 
 understand much better than I, who never had such 
 opportunities, but I think that if I were in your 
 place, Berta, I would not let my name be known 
 just yet, for people always want what's kept from them, 
 and don't value what's given. If penny oranges were 
 a pound apiece all the House of Lords would sit suck- 
 ing them. I am not sure, but I think that after the 
 women had gone upstairs the others turned their 
 thoughts upon you again ; what they said about you I 
 don't know, for if there's one thing I hate 'tis hanging 
 about the doors when the men begin to get moved by 
 their wine, which they did to a large extent to-night, 
 and spoke very loud. They always do here, for old 
 Hon is a hearty giver in his way. However, as you see 
 these people from their own level now, it is not much 
 
92 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 tliat I can tell you in seeing tlieni only from the under 
 side, thouijjli I see strano^e thin<]^s sometimes, and of 
 course — 
 
 "Wliat great ones do the less Avill prattle of, 
 
 as it says in that book of select pieces that you 
 gave me. 
 
 ' Well, my dear girl, I hope you ^vill prosper. One 
 thing above all others you'll have to mind, and it is 
 that folk must continually strain to advance in order to 
 remain where they are : and you particularly. But as 
 for trying too hard, I wouldn't do it. Much lies in 
 minding this, that your best plan for lightness of heart 
 is to raise yourself a little higher than your old mates, 
 but not so high as to be quite out of their reach. All 
 human beings enjoy themselves from the outside, and 
 so getting on a little has this good in it, you still keep 
 in your old class where your feelings are, and are 
 thoughtfully treated by this class : wliile by getting on 
 too much you are sneered at by your new acquaintance, 
 who don't know^ the skill of your rise, and you are 
 parted from and forgot by the old ones who do. 
 Whatever happens, don't be too quick to feel. You 
 will surely get some hard blows when you are found 
 out, for if the great can find no excuse for hitting with 
 a mind, they'll do it and say 'tw^as in fun. But you 
 are young and healthy, and youth and health are 
 power. I wish I could have a decent footman here 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 9 J 
 
 Avitli me, but I suppose it is no use trying. It is such 
 men as tliese that provoke the contempt we get. 
 Well, thank God a few years will see the end of me, 
 for I am growing ashamed of my company — so different 
 as they are to the servants of old times. 
 ' Your affectionate father, 
 
 'E. ClIICKEREL. 
 
 ' P.S. — Do not press Lady Petherwin any further 
 to remove the rules on which you Hve with her. She 
 is quite right : she cannot keep us, and to recognise us 
 would do you no good, nor us either. We are content 
 to see you secretly, since it is best for you.' 
 
94 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTER Vni. 
 
 Christopher's lodgings — the grounds about 
 rookingtox. 
 
 MEAi!fi\^HiLE, ill the distant town of Sandbourne, Chris- 
 topher Jnhan had recovered from the weariness pro- 
 duced by his hiboiu's at the Wyndway evening-party 
 where Ethelberta had been a star. Instead of engaging 
 his energies to clear encumbrances from the tangled 
 way of his life, he now set about reading the popular 
 ' Metres by Me ' with more interest and assiduity than 
 ever ; for though Julian was a thinker by instinct, he 
 was only a worker by effort ; and the greater of these 
 kinds being dependent upon the less for its exhibi- 
 tion, there was often a lamentable lack of evidence of 
 his power in either. It is a provoking correlation, and 
 has conduced to the obscurity of many a genius. 
 
 ' Kit,' said his sister, on reviving at the end of the 
 bad headache which had followed the dance, ' those 
 poems seem to have increased in value with you. The 
 lady, lofty as she appears to be, would be flattered 
 if she only could know how much you study them. 
 Have vou decided to thank her for them ? Now let 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETIIELCERTA. 05 
 
 US talk it over — I like having a cliat about such a 
 pretty new subject.' 
 
 ' I would thank her in a moment if I were abso- 
 lutely certain that she had anything to do with sending 
 them, or even writing them. I am not quite sure of 
 that yet.' 
 
 ' How strange that a woman could bring herself to 
 write those verses ! ' 
 
 ' Not at all strange — they are natural outpourings.' 
 
 Faith looked critically at the remoter caverns of the 
 fire. 
 
 ' Why strange ? ' continued Christopher. ' There 
 is no harm in them.' 
 
 ' no — no harm. But I cannot explain to you — 
 unless you see it partly of your own accord — that to 
 write them she must be rather a fast lady — not a bad 
 fast lady ; a nice fast lady, I mean, of course. There, 
 I have said it now, and I daresay you are vexed with 
 me, for your interest in her has deepened to what it 
 originally was, I think. I don't mean any absolute 
 harm by " fast," Kit.' 
 
 ' Bold, forward, you mean, I suppose ? ' 
 
 Faith tried to hit upon a better definition which 
 should please all round ; and, on failing to do so, 
 looked concerned at her brother's somewhat grieved 
 appearance, and said, helplessly, 'Yes, I suppose 
 I do.' 
 
 ' My idea of her is quite the reverse. A poetess 
 
9G THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBEETA. 
 
 must intrinsically be sensitive, or she could never feel : 
 but, then, frankness is a rhetorical necessity even with 
 the most modest, if their inspirations are to do any good 
 in the world. You will, for certain, not bo interested 
 in something I was going to tell you, which I thought 
 would have pleased you immensely ; but it is not worth 
 mentioning now.' 
 
 ' If you will not tell me, never mind. But don't 
 be crabbed. Kit ! You know how interested I am in 
 all your affairs.' 
 
 ' It is only that I have composed an air to one of 
 the prettiest of her songs, " When tapers tall " — but I 
 am not sure about the power of it. This is how it 
 begins — I threw it off in a few minutes, after you had 
 gone to bed.' 
 
 He went to the piano and lightly touched over an 
 air, the manuscript copy of which he placed in front of 
 him, and listened to hear her opinion, having proved 
 its value frequently ; for it was not that of a woman 
 merely, but impersonally human. Though she was 
 unknown to fame, this was a great gift in Faith, since 
 to have an unsexed judgment is as precious as to be an 
 inisexed being is deplorable. 
 
 'It is very fair indeed,' said the sister, scarcely 
 moving her li])s in her great attention. ' ^ow again, 
 and attain, and again. How could you do it in the 
 time ! ' 
 
 Kit knew that she admired his performance : pas- 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 97 
 
 sive assent was her usual praise, and she seldom insisted 
 vigorously upon any view of his compositions unless 
 for purposes of emendation. 
 
 ' I was thinking that, as I cannot very well write 
 to lier, I may as well send her this,' said Christopher, 
 with hghtened spirits, voice to correspond, and eyes 
 likewise ; ' there can be no objection to it, for such 
 things are done continually. Consider while I am 
 gone. Faith. I shall be out this evening for an hour 
 or two.' 
 
 When Christopher left the house shortly after, in- 
 stead of going into the town on some errand, as was 
 customary whenever he went from home after dark, he 
 ascended a back street, passed over the hills behind, 
 and walked at a brisk pace inland along the road to 
 Eookington Park, where, as he had learnt, Ethelberta 
 and Lady Petherwin were staying for a time, the day 
 or two which they spent at Wyndway having formed a 
 short break in the middle of this visit. The moon was 
 shining to-night, and Christopher sped onwards over 
 the palhd high road as readily as he could have done 
 at noonday. In three-quarters of an hour he reached 
 the park gates ; and entering now upon a tract which he 
 had never before explored, he went along more cautiously 
 and with some imcertainty as to the precise direction 
 that the road would take. A frosted expanse of even 
 grass, on whidi the shadoAV of his head appeared with 
 an opal lialo round it, soon allowed the house to be 
 
 VOL. I. ]l 
 
98 THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 discovered beyond, the otlier portions of the park 
 abounding with timber older and finer than that of any- 
 other spot in the neighbourhood. Christopher with- 
 drew into the shade, and wheeled round to the front 
 of the building that contained his old love. Here he 
 gazed and idled, as many a man has done before him 
 — wondering which room the fair poetess occupied, 
 waiting till lights began to appear in the upper windows 
 — which they did as uncertainly as glow-worms blink- 
 in a- up at eventide — and W' arming with currents of 
 revived feeling in perhaps the sweetest of all conditions. 
 New love is brightest, and long love is greatest ; but 
 revived love is the tenderest thing known upon earth. 
 
 Occupied thus, Christopher was greatly surprised to 
 see, on casually glancing to one side, another man 
 standing close to the shadowy trunk of another tree, in 
 a similar attitude to his owm, gazing, with arms folded, 
 as blankly at the windows of the house as Christopher 
 himself had been gazing. Though nothing in his own 
 action had appeared at all black or \illanous to him, 
 this duplicate of the act in somebody else he instantly 
 felt to be a contemptible thing, demanding instant 
 hatred. Not willing to be discovered, Christopher 
 stuck closer to the tree. While he Avaited thus, the 
 stranger began murmuring words, in a slow soft voice. 
 Christopher listened till he heard the following : — 
 
 Pale -was the day and rayles?, love, 
 Tliat had an eve so dim. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 99 
 
 Two well-known lines from one of Ethelberta's 
 poems. 
 
 Jealousy is a familiar kind of heat which encircles, 
 disfigures, licks playfully, clouds, blackens, eats into, 
 steams, and boils a man as a fire does a pot ; and on 
 recognising these pilferings from what he had grown to 
 regard as his own treasiury, Christopher's fingers began 
 to nestle with great vigour in the palms of his hands. 
 Three or four minutes passed when the unknown rival 
 gave a last glance at the windows, and walked away. 
 Christopher did not like the look of that walk at all — 
 there was grace enough in it to suggest that his an- 
 tagonist had no mean chance of finding favour in a 
 woman's eyes. A sigh, too, seemed to proceed from 
 the stranger's breast ; but as their distance apart was too 
 great for any such sound to be heard by any possibility, 
 Christopher set down that to imagination, or to the 
 brushing of the wind over the trees. 
 
 The lighted windows went out one by one, and all 
 the house was in darkness. Mr. Julian then walked ofi" 
 himself, with a vigour that was spasmodic only, and 
 with much less brightness of mind than he had experi- 
 enced on his journey hither. The stranger had gone 
 another way, and Christopher saw no more of him. 
 When he reached Sandbourne, Faith was still sitting up. 
 
 ' But I told you I was going to take a long walk,' 
 he said. 
 
 n 2 
 
100 THE nAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ^ No, Christopher : really you did not. How tired 
 and sad you do look — tliough I always know before- 
 hand when you are in that state : one of your feet has 
 a drag about it as you pass along the pavement outside 
 the window.' 
 
 ' Yes, I forgot that I did not tell you.' 
 
 He could not begin to describe his pilgrimage : it 
 was too silly a thing even for her to hear of. 
 
 ' It does not matter at all about my staying up,' 
 said Faith, assuringly ; ' that is, if exercise benefits you. 
 Walking up and down the lane, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' No ; not walking up and down the lane.' 
 
 ' The turnpike-road to Eookington is pleasant.' 
 
 ' Faith, I know you think me a simpleton : that is 
 really where I have been. How came you to know? ' 
 
 ' I only guessed. Verses and an accidental meeting 
 produce a special journey.' 
 
 ' Ethelberta is a fine woman, physically and men- 
 tally, both. I wonder people do not talk about her 
 twice as much as they do.' 
 
 ' Then surely you are getting attached to her again. 
 You think you discover in her more than anybody else 
 does ; and love begins with a sense of superior discern- 
 ment.' 
 
 ' I don't feel it.' 
 
 'And ends ^vith a sense of blindness.' 
 
 * And I don't feel that. What is it Hke in the 
 middle? You may spot me there.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 101 
 
 ' It is not so bad as that, Christopher, is it ? ' she 
 exclaimed, looking up. 
 
 ' No, no. That is only nonsense,' he said hurriedly. 
 * However, love her or love her not, I can keep a corner 
 of my heart for you, Faith. There is another brute 
 after her, too, it seems.' 
 
 ' Of course there is : I expect there are many. Her 
 position in society is above ours, so that it is an unwise 
 course to go troubling yourself more about her.' 
 
 ' No. If a needy man must be so foolish as to fall 
 in love, it is best to do so where he cannot double his 
 foolishness by marrying the woman.' 
 
 ' I don't like to hear you talk so shghtingly of what 
 poor father did.' 
 
 ' Marriage is only an accident of situation, situation 
 an accident of history, history of geography — and there 
 we go.' 
 
 Christopher fixed his attention on the supper. That 
 night, late as it was, when Faith was in bed and sleep- 
 ing, he sat before a sheet of music-paper, neatly copying 
 his composition upon it. 
 
102 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 A VILLAGE INN — ROOKINGTON DRIVE — CHRISTOPHER'S 
 
 ROOMS. 
 
 In the general travellers' room of a village inn, not far 
 from Eookington House, a young man sat about noon 
 the next day, partaking of the most delicate luncheon 
 that the house afforded ; the chief dehcacy being the 
 whiteness of the table-cloth. This person was the 
 painter who had sung the praises of Ethelberta at the 
 dinner in Chevron Square. The term of Ladywell's 
 visit to Wyndway having expired, he had returned to 
 London, with concealed despair on matters connected 
 with eyes, hps, hair, and so on, as observed in Ethel- 
 berta, to take his place at Mr. Doncastle's table as we 
 have seen ; and at length had sneaked down here again 
 by the only sort of sneaking that is not mean — a lover's 
 — to get a sight of her once more if he could possibly 
 find her. His first disappointment was to discover that 
 she had left Wyndway for Eookington, a house whose 
 inmates he knew nothing of. He walked round the 
 premises that very night. 
 
 Being a painter, he naturally felt himself compelled 
 
THE HAND OP ETHELBERTA. 103 
 
 to have an artist's eye for everything quaint and queer ; 
 and to-day, as he sat in the inn, whilst secretly pre- 
 ferring the pictorial effect of London hotels and clubs 
 to anything the country could offer, he conscientiously 
 scrutinised the unceiled woodwork overhead, dyed by 
 the smoke to the hues of deep dark wines and coffees, 
 and observed with critical clearness the panoramic 
 series of engravings of a fox-hunt, wherein occurred 
 the well-known melancholy portrait of a gentleman, 
 consisting of his boots only, as they appear sticking up 
 from the surface of a stream into which he has fallen 
 head foremost. 
 
 Ladywell heard a footstep in the passage, and on 
 looking round saw Christopher enter the room, bearing 
 under his arm a roll of the music he had been at such 
 pains to compose and copy on the previous days. 
 Julian had an idea that he recognised the face as one 
 Avhich the moonhght had illuminated the night before 
 in the park hard by, and he was certain that it was the 
 face of the man he had seen dancing at the ball with 
 Ethelberta. He composed his countenance as well as 
 unconscious antagonism would allow him, went into 
 the kitchen, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing the 
 enemy pass out. 
 
 Christopher despatched some rare old ale, which, 
 well followed for half an hour, would have drawn 
 ' Here's a health to all good lasses,' from the throat of 
 a bishop, and departed in his turn, continuing his 
 
104 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 journey towards Eookiiigtoii House, with the view of 
 obtaining audience of Ethelberta. The stroke, con- 
 ventionally, was a bold one ; yet, in a simple human 
 light, it was the meekest of meek deeds, he reflected ; 
 ' and there must have been a natural impulsive time in 
 human history, before a gimcrack social machinery 
 came into vogue, when every man Hew like an arrow 
 to the feet of every Avoman who attracted him, without 
 a thought of ceremony,' he said aloud. 
 
 Julian passed the lodge as on the previous evening, 
 and took a short cut across the open glade, where 
 numbers of rooks dotted the ground like parsons at a 
 Visitation. The walk was pleasant to him, notwith- 
 standing that it was one of those perplexing days of 
 winter when the vveather, by continually hitting on 
 this side and on that of the division betw^een wet and 
 fine, is regarded as of w^hichever sort the mood of the 
 observer requires as its background. In the drive 
 before liim he saw a pedestrian carrying a portfolio 
 under his arm ; but Christopher did not recognise the 
 man as Lady well, whom he had seen taking lunch at 
 the inn, until he had entered the drive himself. The 
 two young men stole an under glance at each other, 
 felt an instinctive objection to such company on such 
 an occasion, and walked along silently at opposite sides 
 of the road, as uniform and as parallel in their advance 
 as a pair of wheels on one axle, and as rigorously 
 separate. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 105 
 
 On Hearing the honse, Jnlian's heart began to be 
 moved with thrills of pleasure at thoughts of Ethel- 
 berta within, but the intruder's prtsence exercised a 
 constraint over his feelings. Seeing a man-servant at 
 the front entrance, he renounced his original modest 
 intention of going to the side door, and advanced with 
 his music-roll, Lady well at the same time doing the 
 same thing. 
 
 Ladywell then got a httle the better of him, and 
 addressed the porter, whose reply Christopher heard. 
 
 ' Mrs. Petherwin ? She does not live here. A 
 lady of that name was staying here for a few days at 
 Christmas, but she has gone home now.' 
 
 At the sound of words about her, Christopher 
 could not help blushing a good deal, and being a pale 
 man it show^ed all the more. Looking to see if Lady- 
 well observed his w^eakness, he saw that Ladywell was 
 in the middle of precisely the same kind of blush at 
 the same sound. Knowing by this that Ladywell was 
 as shamefaced as himself about his love, Christopher 
 stood up boldly and spoke out. 
 
 ' Will you obhge me by giving me her address ? ' 
 
 ' And me, please,' said Mr. Ladywell. ' I promised 
 her some drawings at Wyndway the other day, and I 
 wish to send them. It is the same Mrs. Petherwin who 
 was at Wyndway with Lady Petherwhi ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir ; they did go to Wyndway for a day or 
 two, our family as well. I have heard her address, but 
 
106 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 I don't recollect it. Perhaps when Sir James comes 
 home he may be able to tell you.' 
 
 ' Ah, thanks, but it is not — I understood that she 
 lived here — I will call again,' stammered Ladywell, 
 withdrawing. Christopher, keeping in an ancient ex- 
 clamation as he heard his (questions forestalled word 
 for word by his companion, had also turned away ; and 
 now, paciug down the avenue, niucli out of heart, he 
 heard Ladywell's footsteps behind him, fruitlessness 
 resounding from every tread of the painter hkewise. 
 Quickening his own pace, he put greater distance 
 between them, and proceeded homeward. 
 
 ' Well, after all my trouble to find out about Ethel- 
 berta has been in vain, here comes the clue without my 
 asking for it,' said Christopher to Faith, a few weeks 
 after the unproductive walk to Eookington Park, 
 described above. 
 
 She turned and saw that he was reading the ' Wessex 
 Eeflector.' 
 
 ' What is it ? ' asked Faith. 
 
 ' The secret of the true authorship of the book is 
 out at last, and it is Ethelberta of course. I am so glad 
 to have it proved hers.' 
 
 ' But can we believe ? ' 
 
 ' yes. Just hear what "Our London Correspond- 
 ent " says. It is one of the nicest bits of gossip that 
 our town friend has furnished us with for a long time 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 107 
 
 — how he must get about to find out such things ! I 
 should like to know this "London Correspondent " very 
 much ; he must be an awfully nice jovial sort of fellow.' 
 
 ' Yes : now read it, do.' 
 
 '"The author of 'Metres by Me,"" Christopher 
 began, " a book of which so much has been said and con- 
 jectured, and one, in fact, that has been the chief talk 
 for several weeks past of the literary circles to which I 
 belong, is a yoimg lady who was a widow before she 
 readied the age of eighteen, and is now not far beyond 
 her fourth lustrum. I w^as additionally informed by a 
 friend whom I met yesterday on his way to the House 
 of Lords, that her name is Mrs. Petherwin — Christian 
 name Ethelberta ; and that she resides with her mother- 
 in-law at their house in Connaught Crescent. She is, 
 moreover, the daughter of the late Bishop of Silchester 
 (if report may be beheved), whose active benevolence, 
 as your readers know, left his family in comparatively 
 straitened circumstances at his death. The marriage 
 was a secret one, and much against the wish of her 
 husband's friends, who are wealthy people on all sides. 
 The death of the bridegroom two or three weeks after 
 the wedding led to a reconciliation ; and the young 
 poetess was taken to the home which she still occupies, 
 devoted to the composition of such brilliant effusions as 
 those the world has lately been favoured with from 
 her pen." ' 
 
lOS THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' If you want to send her your nuisic, you can do so 
 now/ said Faith. 
 
 ' I might have sent it before, but I wanted to de- 
 hver it personally. However, it is all the same now, I 
 suppose, whether I send it or not. I always knew that 
 our destinies would lie apart, though she was once 
 temporarily under a cloud. Her momentary inspiration 
 to write that " Cancelled Words " was the worst possible 
 omen for me. It showed that, thinking me no longer 
 useful as a practical chance, she would make me orna- 
 mental as a poetical regret. But I'll send the manu- 
 script of the song.' 
 
 ' In the way of business, as a composer only ; and 
 you must say to yourself, " Ethelberta, as thou art but 
 woman, I dare ; but as widow, I fear thee." ' 
 
 ' Ha ha I yes. It would have been pleasant enough 
 to see and speak to her once more, too. But I send it 
 only in the way of business— strictly as business, as you 
 say, Faith.' 
 
 Notwithstanding Christopher's affected carelessness, 
 that evening saw a great deal of nicety bestowed upon 
 the operation of wrapping up and sending off the song. 
 He dropped it into the box and heard it fall, and with 
 the curious j)ower which he possessed of setting his 
 wisdom to watch any particular folly in himself that it 
 could not hinder, speculated as he walked on the re- 
 sult of this first tangible step of return to his old position 
 as Ethelberta's lover. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 109 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 A lady's drawing-rooms— ethelberta's 
 
 DRESSING-ROOM. 
 
 It was a house in a street on the north side of Hyde 
 Park, between ten and eleven in the evening, and 
 several inteUigent and courteous people had assembled 
 there to enjoy themselves as far as it was possible to 
 do so in a neutral way — all carefully keeping every 
 variety of feeling in a state of solution, in spite of any 
 attempt such feelings made from time to time to crys- 
 tallise on interesting subjects in hand. 
 
 ' Neigh, who is that charming woman with her 
 head built up in a novel way even for hair architecture 
 — the one with her back towards us?' said a man 
 whose coat fitted doubtfully to a friend whose coat 
 fitted well. 
 
 'Just going to ask for the same information,' said 
 Mr. Neigh, determining the very longest hair in his 
 beard to an infinitesimal nicety by drawing its lower 
 portion through his fingers. ' I have quite forgotten — 
 cannot keep people's names in my head at all ; nor 
 could my father either — nor any of my family — a very 
 
110 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 odd thing. But my old friend Mrs. Napper knows for 
 certain.' And he turned to one of a small group of 
 middle-aged persons near, who, instead of skimming 
 the surface of things in general, like the rest of the 
 company, were going into the very depths of them. 
 
 ' Oh — that is the celebrated Mrs. Petherwin, the 
 woman who makes rhymes and prints 'em,' said Mrs. 
 Napper, hi a detached sentence, and then continued 
 talking again to those on the other side of her. 
 
 The two loungers went on -with their observations 
 of Ethelberta's headdress, which, though not extraor- 
 dinary or eccentric, did certainly convey an idea of 
 indefinable novelty. Observers were sometimes half 
 inclined to think that her cuts and modes Avere acquired 
 by some secret communication with the mysterious 
 clique which orders the livery of the fashionable world, 
 
 for and it affords a parallel to cases in which clever 
 
 thinkers in other spheres arrive independently at one 
 and the same conclusion — Ethelberta's fashion often 
 turned out to be the coming one. 
 
 ' Oh, is that the woman at last ? ' said Neigh, dimin- 
 ishing his broad general gaze at the room to a wrinkled 
 criticism of Ethelberta. 
 
 ' " The rhymes," as Mrs. Napper calls them, are not 
 to be despised,' said his companion. 'The writer's 
 opinions of life and society differ very materially from 
 mine, but I cannot help admiring her in the more re- 
 flective pieces ; the songs I don't care for. The method 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. Ill 
 
 in which she handles curious subjects, and at the same 
 time impresses us with a full conviction of her mo- 
 desty, is very adroit, and somewhat blinds us to the 
 fact that no such poems were demanded of her at all.' 
 
 ' I have not read them,' said Neigh, secretly wrest- 
 ling with his jaw, to prevent a yawn ; ' but I suppose I 
 must. The truth is, that I never care much for reading 
 what one ought to read ; I wish I did, but I cannot 
 help it. And, no doubt, you admire the lady im- 
 mensely for writing them : I don't. Everybody is so 
 talented now-a-days that the only people I care to 
 honour as deserving real distinction are those who re- 
 main in obscurity. I am myself hoping for a corner in 
 some biographical dictionary when the time comes for 
 those works only to contain lists of the exceptional 
 individuals of whom nothing is known but that they 
 lived and died.' 
 
 ' Ah — listen. They are going to sing one of her 
 songs,' said his friend, looking towards a bustling move- 
 ment in the neighbourhood of the piano. ' I believe 
 that song " When tapers tall," has been set to music by 
 three or four composers already.' 
 
 ' Men of any note ? ' said Neigh, at last beaten by 
 his yawn, which courtesy nevertheless confined within 
 his person to such an extent that only a few unim- 
 portant symptoms, such as reduced eyes and a certain 
 rectangular manner of mouth in speaking, were visible. 
 
 ' Scarcely,' rephed the other man. ' Established 
 
112 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 writers of music do not expend their energies upon 
 new verse until they hiid tliat sucli verse is hkely to 
 endure ; for should tlie poet be soon forgotten, their 
 labour is in some degree lost.' 
 
 ' Artful dogs — who Avould have thouglit it ? ' said 
 Neif^h, just as an exercise in words ; and they drew 
 nearer to the piano, less to become listeners to the sing- 
 ing than to be spectators of the scene in that quarter. 
 But among some otliers the interest in the songs seemed 
 to be very great ; and it was unanimously wished that 
 the young lady wlio had practised the different pieces 
 of music privately would sing some of them now in the 
 order of their composers' reputations. The musical 
 persons in the room unconsciously resolved themselves 
 into a committee of taste. 
 
 One and another had been tried, when, at the end 
 of the third, a lady spoke to Ethelberta. 
 
 'Now, Mrs. Petherwin,' she said, gracefully throw- 
 ino- back her tace, 'your opinion is by far the most 
 valuable. In which of the cases do you consider the 
 marriao-e of verse and tune to have been most suc- 
 cessful ? ' 
 
 Ethelberta, finding these and other unexpected calls 
 made upon herself, came to the front \^dthout flinching. 
 
 ' The sweetest and the best that I like by far,' she 
 said ' is none of these. It is one which reached me by 
 post only this morning fi'om a place in Wessex, and is 
 written by an unheard-of man who lives somewhere 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 113 
 
 down there — a man who will be, nevertheless, heard a 
 great deal of some day, I hope — think. I have only- 
 practised it this afternoon ; but, if one's own judgment 
 is worth anything, it is the best.' 
 
 A deaf gentleman who was standing with a friend 
 in the rear declared privately to him upon this that 
 what Mrs. Petherwin said was quite true, and that 
 Wessex was in his judgment as well as hers a very 
 picturesque part of England. 
 
 ' Let us have your favourite, by all means,' said 
 another friend of Ethelberta's who was present — ^Mrs. 
 Doncastle. 
 
 ' I am so sorry that I cannot oblige you, since you 
 wish to hear it,' replied the poetess, regretfully ; ' but 
 the music is at home. I had not received it when I 
 lent the others to Miss Belmaine, and it is only in 
 manuscript like the rest.' 
 
 ' Could it not be sent for ? ' suggested an enthu- 
 siast who knew that Ethelberta lived only in the next 
 street, appealing by a look to her, and then to the 
 mistress of the house. 
 
 ' Certainly, let us send for it,' said that lady. A 
 footman was at once quietly despatched with precise 
 directions as to wdiere Christopher's sweet production 
 might be found. 
 
 ' What — is there going to be something interesting ? ' 
 asked a young married friend of Mrs. Napper, who had 
 returned to her original spot. 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 THE IIA^^D OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ' Yes — the best song she has written is to be sung 
 in the best manner to the best air that has been com- 
 posed for it. I should not wonder if she were going 
 to sing^ it herself.' 
 
 ' Did you know anything of Mi's. Petherwin until 
 her name leaked out in connection with these ballads ? ' 
 
 ' No ; but I think I recollect seeing her once before. 
 She is one of those people who are known, as one may 
 say, by subscription : everybody knows a little, till she 
 is astonishingly well known altogether ; but nobody 
 knows her entirely. She was the orphan child of some 
 clergyman, I believe. Lady Petherwin, her mother-in- 
 law, has been taking her about a great deal latterly.' 
 
 ' She has apparently a very good prospect.' 
 
 ' Yes ; and it is through her being of that curious 
 undefined character which interprets itself to each ad- 
 mirer as whatever he w^ould like to have it. Old men 
 like her because she is so girlish ; youths because she 
 is w^omanly ; mcked men because she is good in their 
 eyes ; good men because she is wicked in theirs.' 
 
 ' She must be a very anomalous sort of woman, at 
 that rate.' 
 
 ' Yes. Like the British Constitution, she owes her 
 success in practice to her inconsistencies in principle.' 
 
 ' These poems must have set her up. She appears to 
 be quite the correct spectacle. Happy Mrs. Petherwin I' 
 
 The subject of their dialogue was engaged in a con- 
 versation with Mrs. Belmaine upon the management 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 115 
 
 of households — a theme provoked by a discussion that 
 was in progress in the pages of some periodical of the 
 time. Mrs. Belmaine was very full of the argument, 
 and went on from point to point till she came to 
 servants. 
 
 The face of Ethelberta showed caution at once. 
 
 ' I consider that Lady Plamby pets her servants by 
 far too much,' said Mrs. Belmaine. ' Oh, you do not 
 know her ? Well, she is a w^oman with theories ; and 
 she lends her maids and men books of the wrong kmd 
 for their station, and sends them to picture-exhibitions 
 which they don't in the least understand — all for the 
 improvement of their taste, and morals, and nobody 
 knows what besides. It only makes them dissatisfied.' 
 
 The face of Ethelberta showed venturesomeness. 
 • Yes, and dreadfully ambitious ! ' she said. 
 
 ' Yes, indeed. What a turn the times have taken ! 
 People of that sort push on, and get into business, and 
 get great warehouses, until at last, without ancestors, 
 or family, or name, or estate ' 
 
 ' Or the merest scrap of heirloom or family jewel.' 
 
 ' Or heirlooms, or family jewels, they are thought 
 as much of as if their forefathers had glided unobtru- 
 sively through the peerage ' 
 
 ' Ever since the first edition.' 
 
 ' Yes.' Mrs. Belmaine, who really sprang from a 
 good old family, had been going to say, ' for the last 
 seven hundred years,' but fancying from Ethelberta's 
 
 r 2 
 
IIG THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 addendum that she might not date back more than a 
 trifling century or so, adopted the suggestion with her 
 usual well-known courtesy, and blushed down to her 
 locket at the thought of the mistake tliat she might 
 have made. This sensitiveness was a trait in her cha- 
 racter which gave great gratification to her husband, 
 and, indeed, to all who knew her. 
 
 ' And have you any theory on the vexed question 
 of servant-government ? ' continued Mrs. Belmaine, 
 smiling. ' But no — the subject is of far too practical a 
 nature for one of your bent, of course.' 
 
 ' no — it is not at all too practical. I have thought 
 of the matter often,' said Ethelberta. ' 1 think the best 
 plan would be for somebody to write a pamphlet, " The 
 Shortest Way with the Servants," just as there was once 
 written a terribly stinging one, " The Shortest Way with 
 the Dissenters," which had a great effect.' 
 
 ' I have always understood that that was written by 
 a dissenter as a satire upon the Church ? ' 
 
 ' Ah — so it was : but the example will do to illus- 
 trate my meaning.' 
 
 ' Quite so — I understand — so it will,' said Mrs. 
 Belmaine, with clouded faculties. 
 
 Meanwhile Christopher's music liad arrived. An 
 accomplished gentleman who had every musical talent 
 except that of creation, scanned the notes carefully 
 from top to bottom, and sat down to accompany the 
 singer. There was no lady present of sufficient confi- 
 
THE H.\ND OF ETIIELBERTA. 117 
 
 dence or skill to venture into a song she had never 
 seen before, and the only one who had seen it was 
 Ethelberta herself; she did not deny having practised 
 it the greater part of the afternoon, and was very 
 willing to sing it now if anybody would derive pleasure 
 from the performance. Then she began, and the 
 sweetness of her singing was such that even the most 
 unsympathetic honoured her by looking as if they 
 would be willing to listen to every note the song con- 
 tained if it were not quite so much trouble to do so. 
 Some were so interested that, instead of continuing 
 their conversation, they remained in silent consider- 
 ation of how they would continue it when she had 
 finished ; while the particularly civil people arranged 
 their countenances into every attentive form that the 
 mind could devise. One emotional gentleman looked 
 at the corner of a chair as if, till that moment such an 
 object had never crossed his vision before ; the move- 
 ment of his fincrer to the imag-ined tune was, for the 
 deaf old clergyman, a perfect mine of interest ; whilst 
 a young man from the country was powerless to put 
 an end to an enchanted gaze at nothing at all in the 
 exact middle of the room before him. Neigh, and the 
 general phalanx of cool men and celebrated club 
 yawners, were so much afiected that they raised their 
 chronic look of great objection to such things to an 
 expression of scarcely any objection at all. 
 
 ' What makes it so interesting,' said Mrs. Doncastle 
 
118 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 to Ethelberta, when the song was over and she had 
 retired from the focus of the company, ' is, that it is 
 played from the composer's own copy, which has never 
 met the pubHc eye, or any other tlian his own before 
 to-day. And I see that he has actually sketched in 
 the lines by hand, instead of having ruled paper — just 
 as the great old composers used to do. You must 
 have been as pleased to get it fresh from the stocks 
 like that as he probably was pleased to get your 
 thanks.' 
 
 Ethelberta became reflective. She had not thanked 
 Christopher ; moreover, she had decided, after some con- 
 sideration, that she ought not to thank him. What 
 new thoughts were suggested by that remark of Mrs. 
 Doncastle's, and what new inclination resulted from the 
 public presentation of his tune and her words as parts 
 of one organic v\diole, are best explained by describing 
 her doings at a later hour, when, having left her 
 Mends somewhat early, she had reached home and 
 retired from pubhc view for that evening. 
 
 Ethelberta went to her room, sent away the maid 
 who did double duty for herself and Lady Petherwin, 
 walked in circles about the carpet till the fire had 
 grown haggard and cavernous, sighed, took a sheet of 
 paper and wrote : 
 
 ' Dear Mr. JuKan, 
 
 ' I have said I would not write : I have 
 said it twice ; but discretion, under some circumstances. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 119 
 
 is only another name ibr luikindness. Before thanking 
 you for your sweet gift, let me tell 3^ou in a few words 
 of something which may materially change an aspect of 
 affairs under which I appear to you to deserve it. 
 
 ' With regard to my history and origin you are 
 altogether mistaken ; and how can I tell whether your 
 bitterness at my previous silence on those points on the 
 past days may not cause you to withdraw your act of 
 courtesy now ? But the gratification of having at last 
 been honest with you may compensate even for the loss 
 of your respect. 
 
 ' The matter is a small one to tell, after all. What 
 will you say on learning that I am not the trodden- 
 down " lady by birth " that you have supposed me ? 
 Tliat my father is not dead, as you probably imagine ; 
 that he is working for liis living as one among a pecu- 
 liarly stigmatised and ridiculed multitude ? 
 
 ' Had he been a brawny cottager, carpenter, mason, 
 blacksmith, well-digger, navvy, tree -feller — any effec- 
 tive and manly trade, in short, a worker in which can 
 stand up in the face of the noblest and daintiest, and 
 bare his gnarled arms and say, with a consciousness of 
 superior power, " Look at a real man ! " I should have 
 been able to show you antecedents which, if not in- 
 tensely romantic, are not altogether antagonistic to 
 romance. But the present fashion of associating with 
 one particular class everything that is ludicrous and 
 bombastic overpowers me when I think of it in relation 
 
120 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 to myself and your known sensitiveness. When the 
 well-born poetess of good report melts into " 
 
 Having got thus far, a fainthearted look, which had 
 begun to show itself several sentences earlier, became 
 pronounced. She threw the writing into the dull fire, 
 poked and stirred it till a red inflammation crept over 
 the sheet, and then started anew : 
 
 ' Dear Mr. Julian, 
 
 ' Not knowing your present rank as 
 composer — ^whether on the very brink of fame, or as 
 yet a long way off — I cannot decide what form of ex- 
 pression my earnest acknowledgments should take. 
 Let me simply say in one short phrase, I thank you 
 infinitely ! 
 
 ' I am no musician, and my opinion on music may 
 not be worth much : yet I know what I like (as every- 
 body says, but I do not use the words as a form to 
 cover a hopeless blank on all connected with the sub- 
 ject), and this sweet air I love. You must have glided 
 like a breeze about me — seen into a heart not worthy 
 of scrutiny, jotted down words that cannot justify 
 attention — before you could have apotheosised the song 
 in so exquisite a manner. My gratitude took the form 
 of wretchedness, when, on hearing the effect of the 
 ballad in public this evening, I thought that I had not 
 power to withhold a reply which might do us both more 
 
THE HAND OP ETHELBERTA. 121 
 
 liarm than good. Then I said " Away with all emotion 
 — I wish the world was drained dry of it — I will take 
 no notice," when a lady whispered at my elbow to the 
 effect that of course I had expressed my gratification 
 to you. I ought first to have mentioned that your 
 creation has been played to-night to full drawing-rooms, 
 and the original tones cooled the artificial air Hke a 
 fountain almost. 
 
 ' I prophesy great things of you. Perhaps, at the 
 time when we are each but a row of bones in our in- 
 dividual graves, your genius will be remembered, while 
 my mere cleverness will have been long forgotten. 
 
 * But — you must allow a woman of experience to 
 say this — the undoubted power that you possess will do 
 you socially no good unless you mix with it the ingre- 
 dient of ambition — a quality in which I fear you are 
 very deficient. It is in the hope of stimulating you to 
 a better opinion of yourself that I write this letter. 
 
 ' Probably I shall never meet you again. Not that 
 I think' circumstances to be particularly powerful to 
 prevent such a meeting, rather it is that I shall ener- 
 getically avoid it. There can be no such thing as strong 
 friendship between a man and a woman not of one 
 family. 
 
 ' More tlian that there must not be, and this is why 
 we will not meet. You see that I do not mince mat- 
 ters at all ; but it is hypocrisy to avoid touching upon 
 a subject which all men and women in our position 
 
122 THE HAND of ethelberta. 
 
 inevitably tliink of, no matter what they say. Some 
 women might liave written distantly, and wept at the 
 repression of tlieir real feeling ; but it is better to be 
 more frank, and keep a dry eye. 
 
 ' Yours, 
 
 ' Ethelberta.' 
 
 Her feet felt cold and her heart weak as she di- 
 rected the letter, and she was overpowered with weariness. 
 But murmuring ' If I let it stay till the morning I shall 
 not send it, and a man may be lost to fame because of 
 a woman's squeamishness — it shall go,' she partially 
 dressed lierself, wrapped a large cloak around her, 
 descended the stairs, and went out to the pillar-box at 
 the corner, leaving the door not quite close. Ko gust 
 of wind had realised her misgivings that it might be 
 blown shut on her return, and she re-entered as softly 
 as she had emerged. 
 
 It will be seen tliat Ethelberta had said nothing 
 about her family after all. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 123 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LADY PETHERWIN's HOUSE. 
 
 The next day old Lady Petherwin, who liad not ac- 
 companied Etlielberta the night before, came into the 
 morning-room, with a newspaper in her hand. 
 
 ' What does this mean, Ethelberta ? ' she enquired 
 in tones from which every shade of human expressive- 
 ness was extracted by some awful and imminent mood 
 that lay behind. She was pointing to a paragraph 
 under the heading of ' Literary Notes,' which contained 
 in a few words the announcement of Ethelberta's 
 authorship that had more circumstantially appeared in 
 the ' Wessex Eeflector.' 
 
 ' It means what it says,' said Ethelberta, quietly. 
 
 ' Then it is true ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. I must apologise for having kept it such a 
 secret from you. It was not done in the spirit that you 
 may imagine : it was merely to avoid disturbing your 
 mind that I did it so privately.' 
 
 ' But surely you have not written every one of those 
 ribald verses ? ' 
 
 Ethelberta looked inclined to exclaim most vehe- 
 
124 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 mently against this ; but wliat she actually did say was, 
 " Ribald " — what do you mean by that ? I don't think 
 that you are aware what " ribald " means.' 
 
 ' I am not sure that I am. As regards some words, 
 aB well as some persons, the less you are acquainted 
 with them the more it is to your credit.' 
 
 'I don't quite deserve this, Lady Petherwin.' 
 ' Eeally, one would imagine that women wrote their 
 books during those dreams in which people have no 
 moral sense, to see how improper some, even virtuous, 
 ladies become when they get into print.' 
 
 ' I might have done a much more unnatural thing 
 than write those poems. And perhaps I might have 
 done a much better thing, and got less praise. But 
 that's the world's fault, not mine.' 
 
 ' You midit have left tliem unwritten, and shown 
 more fidelity.' 
 
 ' Fidehty ! it is more a matter of humour than 
 principle. What has fidelity to do with it ? ' 
 ' Fidelity to my dear boy's memory.' 
 ' It would be difficult to show that because I have 
 written so-called tender and gay verse, I feel tender 
 and gay. It is too often assumed that a person's fancy 
 is a person's real mind. I believe that in the majority 
 of cases one is fond of imagining the direct opposite of 
 one's principles in sheer effort after something fresh 
 and free ; at any rate, some of the lightest of those 
 rhymes were composed between the deepest fits of 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 125 
 
 dismals I have ever known. However, I did expect 
 that you might judge in the way you liave judged, and 
 that was my chief reason for not telHng you what I 
 had done.' 
 
 ' You don't deny that you tried to escape from 
 recollections you ought to have cherished ? There is 
 only one thing that women of your sort are as ready 
 to do as to take a man's name, and that is, drop his 
 memory.' 
 
 ' Dear Lady Petherwin — don't be so unreasonable 
 as to blame a live person for living ! No woman's 
 head is so small as to be filled for life by a memory of 
 a few months. Four years have passed since I last 
 saw my boy-husband. We were mere children; see 
 how I have altered since in mind, substance, and out- 
 line — I have even grown half an inch taller since his 
 death. Two years will exhaust the regrets of widows 
 who have long been faithful wives ; and ought I not to 
 show a little new life when my husband died in the 
 honeymoon ? ' 
 
 ' No. Accepting the protection of your husband s 
 mother was, in effect, an avowal that you rejected the 
 idea of being a widow to prolong the idea of being a 
 wife ; and the sin against your conventional state 
 thus assumed is almost as bad as would have been 
 a sin against the married state itself. If you had 
 gone off when he died, saying, " Thank heaven, I am 
 free ! " you would, at any rate, have shown some real 
 honesty.' 
 
126 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' I should have been more virtuous by being more 
 unfeehng. That often happens.' 
 
 ' I have taken to you, and made a great deal of 
 you — given you the inestimable advantages of foreign 
 travel and good society to enlarge your mind. In 
 short, I have been like a Naomi to you in everything, 
 and I maintain that writing these poems saps the foun- 
 dation of it all.' 
 
 ' I do own that you have been a very good Naomi 
 to me thus far ; but Euth was quite a fast widow in 
 comparison with me, and yet Naomi never blamed her. 
 You are unfortunate in your illustration. But it is 
 dreadfully flippant of me to answer you like this, for 
 you have been kind. But why will you provoke me ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, you are flippant, Ethelberta. You are too 
 much given to that sort of thing.' 
 
 ' Well, I don't know how the secret of my name 
 has leaked out ; and I am not ribald, or anything you 
 say,' said Ethelberta, with a sigh. 
 
 ' Then you own you do not feel so ardent as you 
 seem in your book ? ' 
 
 ' I do own it.' 
 
 ' And that you are sorry your name has been pub- 
 lished in connection with it ? ' 
 
 ' I am.' 
 
 ' And you think the verses may tend to misrepre- 
 sent yoiu: character as a gay and rapturous one, when 
 it is not ? ' 
 
THE HAND OP ETHELBERTA. 127 
 
 ' I do fear it/ 
 
 ' Then, of course, you ^\dll suppress the poems 
 instantly. That is the only way in which you can re- 
 gain the position you liave hitherto held with me.' 
 
 Ethelberta said nothing ; and the dull winter atmo- 
 sphere had far from light enough in it to show by her 
 face what she mig^ht be thinkino-. 
 
 ' Well ? ' said Lady Petherwin. 
 
 ' I did not expect such a command as that,' said 
 Ethelberta. ' I have been obedient for four years, 
 and would continue so — but I cannot suppress the 
 poems. They are not mine now to suppress.' 
 
 ' You must get them into your hands. Money will 
 do it, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I suppose it would — a thousand pounds.' 
 
 ' Very well ; the money shall be forthcoming,' said 
 Lady Petherwin after a pause. ' You had better sit 
 down and ^vritc about it at once.' 
 
 ' I cannot do it,' said Ethelberta ; ' and I will not. 
 I don't wish them to be suppressed. I am not ashamed 
 of them ; there is nothing to be ashamed of in them ; 
 and I shall not take any steps in the matter.' 
 
 ' Then you are an ungrateful woman, and wanting 
 in natural affection for the dead ! ' 
 
 ' That's an intolerable ' 
 
 Lady Petherwin crashed out of the room in a wind 
 of indignation, and went upstairs and heard no more. 
 Adjoining lier chamber was a smaller one called her 
 
128 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 study, and, on reacliiDg this, slie unlocked a cabinet, 
 took out a small deed-box, removed from it a folded 
 packet, unfolded it, crumpled it up, and turning round 
 suddenly flung it into the fire. Then she stood and 
 beheld it eaten away word after word by the flames. 
 ' Testament,' — ' all that freehold,' — '' heirs and assigns ' 
 appearing occasionally for a moment only to disappear 
 for ever. Nearly half the document had turned into a 
 glossy black when the old lady clasped her hands. 
 
 ' What have I done ! ' she exclahned. Springing to 
 the tongs she seized with them the portion of the 
 writing yet unconsumed, and dragged it out of the fire. 
 Ethelberta appeared at the door. 
 
 ' Quick, Ethelberta ! ' said Lady Petherwin. ' Help 
 me to put this out ! ' And the two women Avent 
 trampling wildly upon the document and smothering it 
 with a corner of the hearth-rug. 
 
 ' What is it ? ' said Ethelberta. 
 
 ' My will ! ' said Lady Petherwin. ' I have kept 
 it by me lately, for I have wished to look over it at 
 leisure ' 
 
 ' Good heavens ! ' said Ethelberta, trampling more 
 wildly than ever. ' And I was just coming in to tell 
 you that I would always cling to you, and never desert 
 you, ill-use me how you might ! ' 
 
 ' Such an aflectionate remark sounds curious at such 
 a time,' said Lady Petherwin, sinking down in a chair 
 at the end of the struggle. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 129 
 
 But,' cried Ethelberta, ' you don't suppose- 
 
 ' Selfishness, my dear, lias given nie such crooked 
 looks that I can see it round a corner.' 
 
 ' If you mean that what is yours to give may not 
 be mine to take, it would be as w^ell to name it in an 
 impersonal way, if you must name it at all,' said the 
 daughter-in-law, with wet eyelids. ' God knows I had 
 no selfish thought in saying that. I came upstairs to 
 ask you to forgive me, and knew nothing about the 
 will. But every explanation distorts it all the more ! ' 
 
 ' We two have got all awry, dear — it cannot be 
 concealed — awry — awry. Ah, who shall set us right 
 again ? However, now I must send for Mr. Chancerly 
 — no, I am going out on other business, and I will call 
 upon him. There, don't spoil your eyes : you may 
 have to sell them.' 
 
 She rang the bell and ordered the carriage ; and 
 half-an-hour later Lady Petherwin's coachman drove 
 his mistress up to the door of her lawyer's office in 
 Lincoln's Inn Fields. 
 
 YOL. I. K 
 
130 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SANDBOURNE AND ITS NEIGHBOURHOOD. 
 
 While this was going on in town, Christopher, at his 
 lodgings in Sandbourne, had been thrown into rare old 
 visions and dreams by the appearance of Ethelberta's 
 letter. Flattered and encouraged to ambition as well 
 as to love ' by her inspiriting sermon, he put off now 
 the last remnant of cynical doubt upon the genuineness 
 of his old mistress, and once and for all set down as 
 disloyal a belief he had latterly acquired that ' Come, 
 woo me, woo me ; for I am like enough to consent,' was 
 all a young woman had to tell. 
 
 All the reasoning of political and social economists 
 would not have convinced Christopher that he had a 
 better chance in London than in Sandbourne of making 
 a decent income by reasonable and likely labour ; but 
 a belief in a far more improbable proposition, im- 
 petuously expressed, warmed him with the idea that 
 he might become famous there. The greater is fre- 
 quently more jeadily credited than the less, and an 
 argument which will not convince on a matter of half- 
 pence appears unanswerable when applied to questions 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 131 
 
 of glory and honour. The regulation wet towel and 
 strong coffee of the ambitious and intellectual student 
 floated before him in visions ; but it was with a sense 
 of relief that he remembered that music, in spite of its 
 drawbacks as a means of sustenance, w^as a profession 
 happily unencumbered witli those excruciating pre- 
 liminaries to greatness. 
 
 Christopher talked about the new move to his 
 sister, as may be supposed, and he w^as vexed that her 
 hopefulness was not roused to quite the pitch of his 
 own. As with others of his sort, his too general habit 
 of accepting the most clouded possibility that chances 
 offered was only transcended by his readiness to kindle 
 with a fitful excitement now and then. Faith was 
 much more equable. ' If you were not the most 
 melancholy man God ever created,' she said, kindly 
 looking at his vague deep eyes and thin face, which 
 was but a few degrees too refined and poetical to 
 escape the epithet of lantern-jawed from anyone who 
 had quarrelled with him, ' you would not mind my 
 coolness about this. It is a good thing of course to go ; 
 I have always fancied that we were mistaken in coming 
 here. Mediocrity stamped " London " fetches more 
 than talent marked " provincial." But I cannot feel so 
 enthusiastic' 
 
 ' Still, if we are to go, we may as well go by enthu- 
 siasm as by calculation ; it is a sensation pleasanter to 
 
 K 2 
 
132 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 the nerves, and leads to just as good a result wlien 
 there is onl}^ one result possible.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said Faith, ' I will not depress you by 
 talking my philosophies. If I, had to describe you, 
 Kit, I should say you were a child in your impulses 
 and an old man in your reflections.' 
 
 ' What else should an individual be w^hen impulse 
 is what remains in us from childhood, and reflection 
 what accumulates with age ? I would rather make 
 hay in wet weather than be with people who are 
 always ahke. However, this is not said of myself, for 
 I have often thought that if I knew a man exactly like 
 myself in every particular, I should not care much 
 about him.' 
 
 ' And if I knew a woman as I know myself, without 
 her being exactly like myself, I should think her very 
 objectionable.' 
 
 ' There's the difference. Well, I am going out now, 
 Faith. Come along with me.' 
 
 When they had walked a little wa}^ Faith entered 
 a shop to make some small purchase, and Julian went 
 slowly on. Looking down as he loitered, his eyes fell 
 upoD a white handkerchief lying on the pavement, and 
 he picked it up. Ahead of him was apparently the 
 female who had dropped it. Christopher doubled the 
 length of his strides and came up almost beside her. 
 She was his little friend the pupil-teacher, and Chris- 
 topher hesitated. Surely she had not dropped her 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 133 
 
 handkerchief on purpose ? The thought was con- 
 fusing, and he turned back without her having seen his 
 approach, and joined Faith, who was now coming up. 
 
 ' Faitli,' he said, ' tliat young hidy has dropped her 
 handkerchief ; do hasten on, and restore it to her. I 
 am going this way.' 
 
 Faith went on as bidden, and Christopher turned 
 aside. He was shghtly disconcerted some time after, 
 on turning back from a ramble, to find himself encoun- 
 tering the girl again, now walking beside Faith, who 
 had entered into conversation with her. Christopher, 
 fancying that neither of them noticed him, thought it 
 best to pass by on the otlier side quietly, without look- 
 ing towards them. It proved, however, that both of 
 them did see him, when Picotee bluslied painfully; 
 whereupon Faith opened her eyes. 
 
 The brother and sister did not meet again till the 
 evening. ' Did you restore the handkerchief.^ ' Chris- 
 topher carelessly asked. 
 
 ' Not to the person you pointed out,' she said. 'I 
 ojBfered it to her, but it was not hers ; she knew nothing 
 about it. And then we saw a lady looking for it, and 
 I gave it to her. Who was that young person — do you 
 know? She seemed to know me and all about our 
 family ; so, owing to that and the mistake about the 
 handkerchief, we got quite friends.' 
 
 ' Oh, she is a pupil-teacher at the schools in 
 Common Street.' 
 
134 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ' Only that ? Her dress seems beyond her rank ; 
 she must be one of a good family grown poor. Why 
 in our best times I myself never wore anything richer 
 in material — or even so rich ; but the cut of her clothes 
 being old-fashioned, its goodness escapes notice almost. 
 And when I asked if she had dropped her handkerchief 
 before saying " No," she looked to see, and I just dis- 
 cerned that the one she carried was widely bordered 
 with what had once been really good lace. Well, it 
 being a beautiful day, I walked on out of the town, and 
 so did she, and then we said a little more and a little 
 more to each other, till I found out something in a very 
 odd way. We met a man, and I saw from her manner 
 at passing him that she loved him, poor girl ; and I 
 fancy the young man, whoever he may be, does not 
 care in the least about her.' Faith looked at him 
 closely. 
 
 ' That's very unfortunate,' said Christopher, placidly ; 
 and she knew from his manner that he was not remark- 
 ing that he held the cardinal place in the story himself. 
 
 ' Yes ; ' Faith continued, ' and when I suspected it, 
 and looked her in the face, she blushed painfully, and 
 tears came into her eyes. And when she saw that I 
 noticed her confusion, she quite trembled. It is very 
 foohsh of girls, I think, to fling themselves at random 
 at men who may all the time be despising them ; I 
 could not help giving her a little lecture about it, which 
 she took very kindly.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 135 
 
 ' Did you tell her that you were soon going to 
 London ? ' 
 
 ' Yes — I just mentioned it. She was quite impressed 
 with the idea, and said she wished from her heart that 
 she was going too. And have you been considering, 
 Kit, any more about when we shall go, and so on ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' What have you thought ? ' 
 
 'That we may very well leave the place in six 
 weeks, if we wish.' 
 
 ' We really may ! ' 
 
 'Yes. And what is more, we will.' 
 
 Faith decided to say no more about Picotee, on the 
 general ground of its inexpedience. 
 
136 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SOME LONDON STREETS. 
 
 Christopher and Faith arrived in London on an after- 
 noon at the end of winter, and beheld from one of the 
 river bridges snow-white scrolls of steam from the tall 
 chimneys of Lambeth rising against the livid sky behind, 
 as if drawn in chalk on toned cardboard. 
 
 The first thing he did that evening, when settled in 
 their apartments near the Britisli Museum, before 
 applying himself to the beginning of the means by 
 which success in life was to be attained, was to go out 
 in the direction of Ethelberta's door, leaving Faith un- 
 packing the things, and sniffing extraordinary smoke- 
 smells which she discovered in all nooks and crannies 
 of the rooms. It was some satisfaction to see Ethel- 
 berta's house, although the single feature in which it 
 differed from the other houses in the Crescent was that 
 no lamp shone from the fanlight over the entrance — 
 a speciality which, if he cared for omens, was hardly 
 encouraging. - Fearing to linger near lest he might be 
 detected, Christopher stole a glimpse at the door and at 
 the steps, imagined what a trifle of the depression worn 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 137 
 
 in each step her feet had tended to produce, and strolled 
 home again. 
 
 Feeling that liis reasons for calling just now were 
 scarcely sufficient, he went next day about the business 
 that had brought him to town, which referred to a 
 situation as organist in a large church in the north-west 
 district. The post was half ensured already, and he 
 intended to make of it the nucleus of a professional 
 occupation and income. Then he sat down to think of 
 the prehminary steps towards publishing the song that 
 had so pleased her, and had also, as far as he could 
 understand from her letter, hit the popular taste very 
 successfully ; a fact which, however little it may say 
 for the virtues of the song, as a composition, was a great 
 recommendation to it as a property. Christopher was 
 delighted to perceive, as if it were a chance discovery, 
 that out of this position he could frame an admissi- 
 ble, if not an unimpeachable, reason for calling upon 
 Ethelberta. He determined to do so at once, and 
 obtain the required permission by ^vord of mouth. 
 
 He was greatly surprised, when the front of the 
 house appeared in view on this spring afternoon, to see 
 what a white and sightless aspect pervaded all the 
 windows. He came close : the eyeball blankness was 
 caused by all the shutters and blinds being shut tight 
 from top to bottom. Possibly this had been the case 
 for some time — he could not tell. In one of the 
 
138 THE ]IAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 windows was a card bearing the announcement ' This 
 House to be let Furnished.' 
 
 Here was a merciless clash between fancy and fact. 
 Eegretting now his faintheartedness in not letting her 
 know beforehand by some means that he was about to 
 make a new start in the world, and coming to dwell 
 near her, Christopher rang the bell to make enquiries. 
 A gloomy sort of caretaker appeared after a while, and 
 the young man asked whither the ladies had gone to 
 live. He was beyond measure depressed to learn that 
 they were in the South of France — Aries, the man 
 thought the place was called — the time of their return 
 to town being very uncertain ; though one thing was 
 clear, they meant to miss the forthcoming London 
 season altogether. 
 
 As Christopher's hope to see her again had brought 
 a resolve to do so, so now resolve led to dogged 
 patience. Instead of attempting anything by letter, 
 he decided to wait; and he waited Avell, occupying 
 himself in publishing a ' March ' and a ' Morning and 
 Evening Service in E l!at.' Some four- part songs, too, 
 engaged his attention w^hen the heavier duties of the 
 day were over — these duties being the giving of lessons 
 in harmony and counterpoint, in which he was aided 
 by the introductions of a man well known in the 
 musical world, who had been acquainted with young 
 Julian as a promising amateur long before he adopted 
 music as the staff of his pilgrimage. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 139 
 
 It was tlie end of summer when lie ac^ain tried 
 his fortune at the liouse in Connaught Crescent. 
 Scarcely calculating upon finding her at this stagnant 
 time of the town year, and only hoping for information, 
 JuHan was surprised and excited to see the shutters 
 open, and the house wearing altogether a living look, 
 its neighbours having decidedly died off meanwhile. 
 
 ' The family here,' said a footman in answer to his 
 enquiry, ' are only temporary tenants of the house. It 
 is not Lady Pether win's people.' 
 
 ' Do you know the Petherwins' present address ? ' 
 
 'Underground, sir, for the old lady. She died 
 some time ago in Switzerland, and was buried there, I 
 beheve.' 
 
 'And Mrs. Petherwin — the young lady?' said 
 Christopher, starting. 
 
 ' We are not acquainted personally with the family,' 
 the man replied. ' My master has only taken the 
 liouse for a few months, whilst extensive alterations are 
 being made in his own on the other side of the park, 
 which he goes to look after every day. If you want 
 any further information about Lady Petherwin, Mrs. 
 Petherwin will probably give it. I can let you have 
 her address.' 
 
 'Ah, yes; thank you,' said Christopher. 
 
 The footman handed him one of some cards which 
 appeared to have been left for the purpose. Julian, 
 though tremblingly anxious to know where Ethelberta 
 
140 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 was, did not look at it till he could take a cool survey 
 in private. The address was 'Arrowthorne Lodge, 
 Wessex.' 
 
 ' Dear me ! ' said Christopher to himself, ' not far 
 from Melchester; and not dreadfully far from Sand- 
 bourne/ 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 141 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 AEROWTHOENE PARK AND LODGE. 
 
 Summer was just over when Christopher JuHan found 
 himself rattling along in the train on the way to Sand- 
 bourne on some trifling business appertaining to his 
 late father's afiairs, which would afford him an excuse 
 for calhng at Arrowthorne about the song of hers 
 that he wished to produce. He alighted in the after- 
 noon at a little station some twenty miles short of 
 Sandbourne, and leaving his portmanteau behind him 
 there, decided to walk across the fields, obtain if 
 possible the interview with the lady, and return then 
 to the station to finish the journey to Sandbourne, 
 which he could thus reach at a convenient hour in 
 the evening, and, if he chose, take leave of again tlie 
 next day. 
 
 It was an afternoon which had a fungous smell out 
 of doors, all being sunless and stagnant overhead and 
 around. The various species of trees had begun to 
 assume the more distinctive colours of their decline, 
 and where there had been one broad pervasive brownish 
 green were now twenty greenisli yellows, the air in the 
 
142 THE IIA^'D OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 vistas betweeu them being half opaque with blue ex- 
 halation. Christopher in his walk overtook a country- 
 man, and enquired if the path they were following 
 would take him to Arrowthorne Lodge. 
 
 ' 'Twill take 'ee into Arr'thorne Park,' the man 
 replied. ' But you won't come anigli the Lodge, unless 
 you bear round to the left as might be.' 
 ' Mrs. Petherwin lives there, I believe ? ' 
 ' No, sir. Leastwise unless she's but lately come. 
 I have never heard of such a woman.' 
 
 ' She may possibly be only visiting there.' 
 'Ah, perhaps that's the shape o't. Well, now you 
 tell o't, I have seen a strange face tliereabouts once or 
 twice lately. A young good-looking maid enough, 
 seemingly.' 
 
 ' Yes, she's considered a very handsome lady.' 
 ' I've heard the woodmen say, now that you tell o't, 
 that they meet her every now and then, just at the 
 closing in of the day, as they come home along with 
 their nitches of sticks ; ay, stalking about under the 
 trees by herself — a tall black martel, so long-legged 
 and awful-hke that you'd think 'twas the old feller 
 himself a coming, they say. Now a woman must be a 
 queer body to my thinking, to roam about by night 
 so lonesome and that. Ay, now that you tell o't, 
 there is sucli a woman, but 'a never have showed in the 
 parish ; sure I never thought wlio the body was — no, 
 not once about her, nor wdiere 'a was livini^ and that — 
 
THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 143 
 
 not I, till you spoke. Well, there, sir, that's Arr'thorne 
 Lodge ; do you see they three elms ? ' He pointed 
 across the glade towards some confused foliage a long 
 way off. 
 
 ' I am not sure about the sort of tree you mean,' 
 said Christopher, 'I see a number of trees with edges 
 shaped like edges of clouds.' 
 
 ' Ay, ay, they be oaks ; I mean the elms to the left 
 hand.' 
 
 ' But a man can hardly tell oaks from elms at that 
 distance, my good fellow ! ' 
 
 ' That 'a can very well — leastwise, if he's got the 
 sense.' 
 
 ' Well I think I see what you mean,' said Chris- 
 topher. ' What next ? ' 
 
 ' When you get there, you bear away smart to 
 nor' west, and you'll come straight as a line to the 
 Lodge.' 
 
 ' How the deuce am I to know which is northwest 
 in a strange place, with no sun to tell me ? ' 
 
 ' What, not know nor'west ? Well, I should think 
 a boy could never live and grow up to be a man 
 without knowing the four quarters. I knowed 'em 
 when I was a mossel of a chiel. W~e be no great 
 scholars here, that's true , but there isn't a Jack-rag or 
 Tom-straw in these parts that don't know where they 
 lie as well as I. Now I've lived, man and boy, these 
 eight-and-sixty years, and never met a man in my life 
 
144 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 afore who liadn't learnt such a common tiling as the 
 four quarters.' 
 
 Christopher parted from his companion and soon 
 reached a stile, clambering over which he entered a 
 park. Here he threaded his way, and rounding a 
 clump of aged trees the young man came in view of a 
 light and elegant country-house in the half-timbered 
 Gothic style of the late revival, apparently only a 
 few years old. Surprised at finding himself so near, 
 Christopher's heart fluttered unmanageably till he had 
 taken an abstract view of his position, and, in impa- 
 tience at his want of nerve, adopted a sombre train of 
 reasoning to convince himself that, far from indulgence 
 in the passion of love bringing bliss, it was a folly, 
 leading to grief and disquiet — certainly one which 
 would do him no good. Cooled down by this, he 
 stepped into the drive and went up to the house. 
 
 ' Is Mrs. Petherwin at home ? ' he said, modestly. 
 
 ' Who did you say, sir ? ' 
 
 He repeated the name. 
 
 ' Don't know the person.' 
 
 ' The lady may be a visitor — I call on business.' 
 
 ' She is not visiting in this house, sir.' 
 
 ' Is not this Arrowthorne Lodge ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not.' 
 
 ' Then where is Arrowthorne Lodge, please ? ' 
 
 ' Well, it is nearly a mile from here. Under the 
 trees by the high road. If you go across by that 
 
THE HANI) OF ETHELBERTA. 145 
 
 footpath it will bring you out quicker than by follow- 
 ing the bend of the drive.' 
 
 Christopher wondered how he could have managed 
 to get into the wrong park ; but, setting it down to his 
 ignorance of the difference between oak and elm, he 
 immediately retraced his steps, passing across the park 
 again, through the gate at the end of the drive, and 
 into the turnpike road. No other gate, park, or country- 
 seat of any description was within view. 
 
 ' Can you tell me the way to Arrowthorne Lodf^^e ? ' 
 he enquired of the first person he met, who was a little 
 girl. 
 
 ' You are just coming away from it, sir,' said she. 
 * I'll show you ; I am going that way.' 
 
 They walked along together. Getting abreast the 
 entrance of the park he had just emerged from, the 
 child said, 'There it is, sir ; I live there too.' 
 
 Christopher, with a dazed countenance, looked to- 
 wards a cottage which stood nestling in the shrubbery 
 and ivy like a mushroom among grass. ' Is that Arrow- 
 tliorne Lodge ? ' he repeated. 
 
 'Yes, and if you go up the drive, you come to 
 Arrowthorne House.' 
 
 ' Arrowthorne Lodge — where Mrs. Petherwin lives, 
 I mean.' 
 
 ' Yes. She lives there along wi' mother and we. 
 But she don't want anybody to know it, sir, 'cause 
 she's celebrate, and 'twouldn't do at all.' 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 Christoplier said no more, and the little girl became 
 interested in the products of the bank and ditch by 
 the wa3'side. He left her, pushed open the heavy gate, 
 and tapped at the Lodge door. 
 
 The latcli was hfted. ' Does Mrs. Petherwin,' he 
 began, and, determined that there should be no mistake, 
 repeated, ' Does Mrs. Ethelberta Petherwin, the poetess, 
 live here ? ' turning full upon the person who opened 
 the door. 
 
 ' She does, sir,' said a faltering voice ; and he found 
 himself face to face with the pupil-teacher of Sand- 
 bourne. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 147 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE LODGE, continued — the copse behind. 
 
 ' This is indeed a surprise ; I — am glad to see you I ' 
 Christopher stammered, with a wire-drawn, radically 
 different smile from the one he had intended — a smile 
 not without a tinge of ghastliness. 
 
 ' Yes — I am home for the holidays,' said the blush- 
 ing maiden ; and, after a critical pause, she added, ' If 
 you wish to speak to my sister, she is in the plantation 
 with the children.' 
 
 « no — no, thank you — not necessary at all,' said 
 Christopher, in haste. ' I only wished for an inter- 
 view with a lady called Mrs. Petherwin.' 
 
 ' Yes ; Mrs. Petherwin — my sister,' said Picotee. 
 ' She is in the plantation. That little path will take you 
 to her in five minutes.' 
 
 The amazed Christopher persuaded himself that 
 this discovery was very delightful, and went on per- 
 suading so long that at last he felt it to be so. Unable, 
 like many other people, to enjoy being satirised in 
 words because of the irritation it caused him as aimed- 
 at victim, he sometimes had philosophy enough to 
 appreciate a satire of circumstance, because nobody 
 
148 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 intended it. Pursuing tlic patli indicated, lie found 
 himself in a thicket of scrubby undergrowtli, Avhich 
 covered an area enclosed from tlie park proper by a 
 decaying fence. The boughs were so tangled that in 
 following the obstructed track it became necessary to 
 screen his face with his hands to escape the risk of 
 having his eyes fiUiped out by tlie twigs that impeded 
 his progress. Thus slowly advancing, his ear caught, 
 between the rustles, the tones of a voice engaged in 
 earnest declamation; and, pushing round in tliat 
 direction, he beheld through some beecli boughs an 
 open space about ten yards in diameter, floored at the 
 bottom with deep beds of curled old leaves from fore- 
 gone years, and cushions of furry moss. In the middle 
 of this natural theatre was the stump of a tree that 
 had been felled by a saw, and upon the flat stool thus 
 formed stood Ethelberta, whom Christopher had not 
 beheld since the ball at Wyndway House. 
 
 Eound her, leaning against branches or prostrate 
 on the ground, were five or six individuals. Two were 
 young mechanics — one of tliem evidently a carpenter. 
 Then there was a boy about thirteen, and two or three 
 younger children. Ethelberta's appearance answered 
 as fully as ever to that of an English lady skilfully per- 
 fected in manner, carriage, look, and accent ; and the 
 incongruity of. her present position among lives which 
 had had many of Nature's beauties stamped out of them, 
 and few of the beauties of Art stamped in, brought 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 149 
 
 him, as a second feeling, a pride in her that ahnost 
 equalled his hrst sentiment of surprise. Christopher's 
 attention was meanwhile attracted from the consti- 
 tution of the group to the words of the speaker in the 
 centre of it — words to which her auditors were Hstening 
 with still attention. 
 
 It appeared to Christopher that Ethelberta had 
 lately been undergoing some very extraordinary ex- 
 periences. What the beginning of them had been he 
 could not in the least understand, but the portion she 
 was describing came distinctly to his ears, and he won- 
 dered more and more. 
 
 ' iNTobody came near me for an hour or two,' said 
 Ethelberta. ' I began to think, as one naturally would, 
 that he must have gone from the rock, and left me to 
 pass the night upon it — perhaps to starve there, for the 
 chffs of the opposite shore were bare of men, houses, 
 animals, or trees. Where were now, I thought, the 
 gallant men who would have laid down life and soul 
 for me but three short hours before ? 
 
 ' As the evening drew on it came into my mind that 
 I had asked my antagonist what part of the coast we 
 had been landed upon by our mutual enemies. " The 
 east," he had said. I could not contradict him ; but it 
 was only necessary to glance towards the setting sun, 
 now pouring its red blaze across the water like a 
 newly-opened furnace, to see how completely I had 
 been misinformed. 
 
150 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' However, I was mistaken in supposing myself to 
 be left alone. He was as hopelessly imprisoned as I. 
 I had been sitting in the remoter part of the green level 
 space which covered the top of the rock. The sun had 
 gone down some time since, the night had come on, a 
 cold sea fog was blowing upon my face, and the mono- 
 tonous wash of the waves beneath was lulling my ears. 
 Somebody rose above the line of the slope, and came 
 near me. The gloom was by this time too profound 
 for me to see anything distinctly, but I immediately 
 guessed that this was he, since he would naturally wait 
 for night, his blindness ceasing to be so great a draw- 
 back Avhen the lateness of the hour had brought the 
 
 o 
 
 same defect upon myself. It evidently had crossed his 
 mind that I might take advantage of his sightless state 
 to give him a sudden push over the cliff, in spite of his 
 great strength, as long as I possessed one extra sense ; 
 in the dark our senses were equal. 
 
 ' I cannot tell why, but at that moment the affliction 
 of my enemy rendered him still more terrible to me. 
 We were both in darkness, for the fog enveloped us 
 like a pall ; but he had the enormous advantage of 
 being used to darkness, whilst to me it was strange and 
 hampering. 
 
 ' He came forward till he, like myself, was about 
 twenty yards from the edge. I instinctively grasped 
 my useless stiletto. How I longed for the assistance 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 151 
 
 which a little earlier I had so much despised ! Eeaching 
 the block or boulder upon which I had been sitting, he 
 clasped his arms around from behind ; his hands closed 
 upon the empty seat, and he jumped up witli an oath. 
 This method of attack told me a new thiug witli 
 wretched distinctness; he had, os 1 supposed, dis- 
 covered my sex ; male attire was to serve my turn no 
 longer. The next instant, indeed, made it clear, for 
 he exclaimed, '• You don't escape me, masquerading 
 madam," or some such words, and came on. My only 
 hope was that in his excitement he might forget to 
 notice where the grass terminated near the edge of the 
 plateau, though this could be easily felt by a careful 
 walker : to make my own feeling more distiuct on tliis 
 point I hastily bared my feet.' 
 
 The listeners moistened their lips, Ethelberta took 
 breath, and then went on to describe the scene that 
 ensued, ' A dreadful variation on the game of Blind- 
 man's buff,' being the words by which she charac- 
 terised it. 
 
 Ethelberta's manner had become so impassioned at 
 this point that the lips of lier audience parted, the 
 children clung to their elders, and Christopher could 
 control himself no longer. He thrust aside tlie boughs, 
 and broke in upon the group. 
 
 ' For Heaven's sake, Ethelberta,' he exclaimed with 
 great excitement, ' where did you meet with sucli a 
 terrible experience as that ? ' 
 
1.'32 Till-: IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 The cliildren shrieked, as if tliey tlionght that the 
 interruption was in some way tlic catastrophe of the 
 events in roiirsc of narration. Everyone started up ; 
 the two young mechanics stared, and one of them 
 enquired, in return, ' What's the matter, friend ? ' 
 
 Christopher had not yet made reply when Ethel- 
 berta stepped from her pedestal down upon the crack- 
 hng carpet of deep leaves. 
 
 ' Mr. Julian ! ' said she, in a serene voice, turning 
 upon him eyes of such a disputable stage of colour, be- 
 tween brown and j^rev. as would have commended 
 itself to a gallant duellist of the last century as a point 
 on which it was absolutely necessary to take some 
 friend's life or otlier. But the calmness was artificially 
 done, and the astonishment that did not appear in 
 Ethelberta's tones was expressed by her gaze. Chris- 
 topher was not in a mood to draw fine distinctions 
 between recognised and unrecognised organs of speech. 
 He replied to the eyes. 
 
 'I own that your surprise is natural,' he said, 
 with an anxious look into her face, as if he wished 
 to get beyond this interpolated scene to something 
 more congenial and understood. ' But my concern at 
 such a history of yourself since I last saw you is even 
 more natural than your surprise at my manner of 
 breaking in.' 
 
 ' That history would justify any conduct in one who 
 hears it ' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 153 
 
 ' Yes, indeed.' 
 
 ' If it were true,' added Etlielberta, smiling. ' But 
 
 it is as false as ' She could name nothing inhe- 
 
 rently or notoriously false without raising an image of 
 what was disagreeable, and she continued in a better 
 manner : ' The story I was telling is entirely a fiction, 
 which I am getting up for a particular purpose — very 
 different from what appears at present.' 
 
 ' I am sorry there was such a misunderstanding,' 
 Christopher stammered, looking upon the ground un- 
 certain and ashamed. ' Yet I am not, either, for I am 
 very glad you have not undergone such trials, of course. 
 But the fact is I — being in the neighbourhood — I ven- 
 tured to call on a matter of business, relating to a poem 
 which I had the pleasure of setting to music at the be- 
 ginning of the year.' 
 
 Ethelberta was only a little less ill at ease than 
 Christopher showed himself to be by this way of 
 talking. 
 
 ' Will you walk slowly on P ' she said gently to the 
 two young men, ' and take the children with you ; this 
 gentleman wishes to speak to me on business.' 
 
 The biggest young man caught up a httle one 
 under his arm, and plunged amid the boughs ; another 
 little one lingered behind for a few moments to look 
 shyly at Christopher, with an oblique manner of hiding 
 her mouth against her shoulder and her eyes behind 
 her pinafore. Then she vanished, the boy and the 
 
154 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 second young man followed, and Ethelberta and Chris- 
 topher stood within the wood-bound circle alone. 
 
 ' I hope I have caused no inconvenience by inter- 
 rupting the proceedings,' said Christopher, softly ; ' but 
 I so very niucli wished to see you — so very much ! ' 
 
 ' Did you, indeed — really wish to see me ? ' she 
 said, gladly. ' Never mind inconvenience then ; it is a 
 word which seems shallow in meaning under the cir- 
 cumstances. I surely must say that a visit is to my 
 advantage, must I not ? I am not as I was, you see, 
 and may receive as advantages what I used to consider 
 as troubles.' 
 
 ' Has your life really changed so much ? ' 
 
 ' It has changed. But what I first meant was that 
 an interesting visitor at a Avrong time is better than a 
 stupid one at a right time.' 
 
 ' I had been behind tlie trees for some minutes, 
 looking at you, and thinking of you ; but what you 
 were doing rather interrupted my first meditation. I 
 had thought of a meeting in which we should continue 
 our intercourse at the point at which it was broken off 
 years ago, as if the omitted part had not existed at all ; 
 but something, I cannot tell what, has upset all that 
 feehng, and ' 
 
 ' I can soon tell you the meaning of my extraordi- 
 nary performance,' Ethelberta broke in quickly, and 
 with a little trepidation. 'My mother-in-law. Lady 
 Petherwin, is dead ; and she has left me nothing but 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 155 
 
 her liouse and fiirnitiirc in London — more than I 
 deserve, but less than she had distinctly led me to 
 expect ; and so I am somewhat in a corner.' 
 
 ' It is always so.' 
 
 ' Not always, I think. But this is how it happened. 
 L:idy Petherwin was very capricious ; when she was 
 not foolishly kind she was unjustly harsh. A great 
 many are like it, never thinking what a good thing it 
 would be, instead of o^oinsf on tackim^ from side to side 
 between favour and cruelty, to keep to a mean line of 
 common justice. And so we quarrelled, and she, being 
 absolute mistress of all her wealth, destroyed her will 
 that w^as in my favour, and made another, leaving me 
 nothing but the fag-end of the lease of the town-house 
 and the furniture in it. Then, when we were abroad, 
 she turned to me again, forgave everything, and, be- 
 coming ill afterwards, wrote a letter to the brother, to 
 whom she had left the bulk of her property, stating 
 that I was to have 20,000^. of the 100,000/. she had 
 bequeathed to him — as in the original will — doing this 
 by letter in case anything should happen to her before 
 a new will could be considered, drawn, and signed, and 
 trusting to his honour quite that he would obey her 
 expressed wish should she die abroad. Well, she did 
 die, in the full persuasion that I was provided for ; but 
 her brother (as I secretly expected all the time) refused 
 to be morally bound by a document wdiich had no 
 legal value, and the result is that he has every- 
 
]56 THE llAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 thing, except, of course, the furniture and the lease. 
 It would have been enough to break the heart of a 
 person wlio had calculated upon getting a fortune, 
 which I never did; for I felt always like an intruder 
 and a bondswoman, and liad wished myself out of 
 the Petherwin femily a hundred times, with my crust 
 of bread and liberty. For one thing, I was always 
 forbidden to see my relatives, and it pained me much. 
 Xow I am going to move for myself, and consider that 
 I have a good chance of success m what I may under- 
 take, because of an indifference I feel about succeeding 
 which gives the necessary coolness that any great task 
 requires.' 
 
 ' I presume you mean to write more poems P ' 
 
 ' I cannot — that is, I can write no more that satisfy 
 me. To blossom into rhyme on the sparkling plea- 
 sures of life, you must be under the influence of those 
 pleasures, and I am at present quite removed from 
 them — surrounded by gaunt realities of a very different 
 description.' 
 
 ' Then try the mournful. Trade upon your suffer- 
 ings : many do, and thrive.' 
 
 ' It is no use to say that — no use at all. I cannot 
 write a line of verse. And yet the others flowed from 
 my heart like a stream ! But nothing is so easy as to 
 seem clever when you have money.' 
 
 ' Except to seem stupid when you have none,' said 
 Christopher, looking at the dead leaves. 
 
 Ethelberta allowed herself to linger on that thought 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 157 
 
 for a few seconds ; and continued, ' Then the question 
 arose, what was I to do ? I felt that to write prose 
 would be an uncongenial occupation, and altogether a 
 poor prospect for a woman like me. Finally I have 
 decided to appear in public' 
 
 ' Not on the stage ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not on the stage. There is no novelty 
 in a poor lady turning actress, and novelty is what I 
 want. Ordinary powers exhibited in a new w^ay effect 
 as much as extraordinary powers exhibited in an old 
 way.' 
 
 ' Yes — so they do. And extraordinary powers, and 
 a new way too, would be irresistible.' 
 
 ' I don't calculate upon both. I had written a 
 prose story by request, when it was found that I had 
 grown utterly inane over verse. It was written in the 
 first person, and the style was modelled after Defoe's. 
 The night before sending it off, wlien I had already 
 packed it up, I was reading about the professional 
 storytellers of Eastern countries, who devoted their 
 lives to the telling of tales. I unfastened the manu- 
 script and retained it, convinced that I should do better 
 by telling the story.' 
 
 ' Well thought of ! ' exclaimed Christopher, looking 
 into her face. ' There is a way for everybody to live, 
 if they can only find it out.' 
 
 ' It occurred to me,' she continued, blushing slightly, 
 * that tales of the weird kind were made to be told, not 
 
158 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 Avritten. The action of a teller is wanted to give due 
 effect to all stories of incident ; and I hope that a time 
 will come when, as of old, instead of an unsocial read- 
 ing of fiction at home alone, people will meet together 
 cordially, and sit at the feet of a professed romancer. 
 I am going to tell my tales before a London public. 
 As a child, I had a considerable power in arresting the 
 attention of other children by recounting adventures 
 which had never happened ; ond men and women are 
 but children enlarged a little. Look at this.' 
 
 She drew from her pocket a folded paper, shook 
 it abroad, and disclosed a rough draft of an announce- 
 ment to the effect that Mrs. Petherwin, Professed Story- 
 teller, would devote an evening to that ancient form of 
 the romancer's art, at a well-known fashionable hall in 
 London. ' Now you see,' she continued, ' the meaning 
 of what you observed going on here. That you heard 
 was one of three tales I am preparing, with a view of 
 selecting the best. As a reserved one, I have the tale 
 of my own life — to be played as a last card. It was a 
 private rehearsal before my bi'others and sisters — not 
 Avith any view of obtaining their criticism, but that I 
 mig;ht become accustomed to my own voice in the 
 presence of listeners.' 
 
 ' If I only had had half your enterprise, what I 
 might have done in the world ! ' 
 
 ' Now did you ever consider what a power Defoe's 
 manner would have if practised by word of moutli ? 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 159 
 
 Indeed, it is a style whicli suits itself infinitely better 
 to telling than to Avriting, abounding as it does in collo- 
 quialisms that are somewhat out of place on paper in 
 these days, but have a wonderful power in makino- a 
 narrative seem real. And so, in short, I am goino- to 
 talk Defoe on a subject of my own. Well ? ' 
 
 The last word had been given tenderly, with a long- 
 draAvn sweetness, and was caused by a look that Chris- 
 topher was bending upon her at the moment, in which 
 he revealed that he was thinking less of the subject 
 she was so eagerly and hopefully descanting upon than 
 upon her aspect in explaining it. It is a fault of manner 
 particularly common among men ncAvly imported into 
 the society of bright and beautiful women ; and we 
 will hope that, springing as it does from no unworthy 
 source, it is as soon forgiven in the general world as 
 it was here. 
 
 ' I was only following a thought,' said Christopher : 
 — ' a thought of how I used to know you, and then 
 lost sight of you, and then discovered you famous, and 
 how we are here under these sad autumn trees, and 
 nobody in sight.' 
 
 ' I think it must be tea-time,' she said, suddenly. 
 ' Tea is a great meal wdth us here — you will join us, 
 will you not ? ' And Ethelberta began to make for 
 herself a passage through the boughs. Another rustle 
 was heard a little way off, and one of the children 
 appeared. 
 
160 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' Emmeline wants to know, please, if the gentleman 
 that come to see ye will stay to tea ; because, if so, 
 she's a going to put in another spoonful for liim and a 
 bit of best green.' 
 
 ' Oh, Georgina — how candid ! Yes, put in some 
 best green.' 
 
 Before Christopher could say any more to her, they 
 were emerging by the corner of the cottage, and one 
 of the brothers drew near them. ' Mr. Julian, you'll 
 bide and have a cup of tea wi' us ? ' he enquired of 
 Christopher ' A old friend of yours, is he not, Mrs. 
 Petherwin ? ' [Christopher wondered at the epithet.] 
 ' Dan and I be going back to Sandbourne to-night, and 
 we can walk with ye as far as the station.' 
 
 ' I shall be delighted,' said Christopher ; and they 
 all entered the cottage. The evening had grown 
 clearer by this time ; the sun was peeping out just 
 previous to departure, and sent gold wires of light 
 across the glades and into the windows, throwing a 
 pattern of the diamond quarries, and outlines of the 
 geraniums in pots, against the opposite wall. One end 
 of the room was polygonal, such a shape being dictated 
 by the exterior design ; in this part the windows were 
 placed, as at the east end of continental churches. Thus, 
 from the combined effects of the ecclesiastical lancet 
 lights and the apsidal shope of the room, it occurred to 
 Christopher that the sisters were all a delightful set of 
 pretty saints, exhibiting themselves in a lady- chapel, 
 
THE HAND OP ETHELBERTA. 161 
 
 and backed up by unkempt major prophets, as repre- 
 sented by the forms of their big brothers. 
 
 Christopher sat down to tea as invited, squeezing 
 liimself in between two children whose names were 
 almost as long as their persons, and whose tin cups 
 discoursed primitive music by means of spoons rattled 
 inside them until they w^ere filled. The tea proceeded 
 pleasantly, notwithstanding that the cake, being a little 
 burnt, tasted on the outside hke the latter plums in 
 snapdragon. Christopher never could meet the eye of 
 Picotee, who continued in a wild state of flushing all 
 the time, fixing her looks upon the sugar-basin, except 
 when she glanced out of the window to see how the 
 evening was going on, and speaking no word at all 
 unless it was to correct a small sister of somewhat crude 
 manners as regards filling the mouth, which Picotee 
 did in a whisper, and a gentle inchnation of her mouth 
 to the little one's ear, and a still deeper blush than 
 before. 
 
 Their visitor next noticed that an additional cup- 
 and-saucer and plate made their appearance occasion- 
 ally at the table, were silently replenished, and then 
 carried off by one of the children to an inner apart- 
 ment. 
 
 ' Our mother is bedridden,' said Ethelberta, noticing 
 Christopher's look at the proceeding. ' Emmeline at- 
 tends to the household, except when Picotee is at home, 
 and Joey attends to the gate ; but our mother's aflSic- 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 tioii is a very unfortunate thing for the poor children. 
 We are thinking of a plan of living which will, I hope, 
 be more convenient than this is ; but we have not yet 
 decided what to do.' 
 
 At this minute a carriage and pair of horses became 
 visible through one of the angular windows of the apse, 
 in the act of turning in from the highway towards the 
 park gate. The boy who answered to the name of 
 Joey sprang up from the table with the promptness of 
 a Jack-in-the-box, and ran out at the door. Every- 
 body turned as the carriage passed through the gate, 
 which Joey held open, putting his other hand where 
 the brim of his hat would have been if he had worn 
 one, and lapsing into a careless boy again the instant 
 that the vehicle had gone by. 
 
 ' There's a tremendous large dinner-party at the 
 House to-night,' said Emmeline, methodically, looking 
 at the equipage over the edge of her teacu[), without 
 leaving off sipping. ' That was Lord Mountclere. He's 
 a wricked old man, they say.' 
 
 ' Lord Mountclere ? ' said Ethelberta, musingly. ' I 
 used to know some friends of his. Li what way is he 
 wicked ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Emmeline, with simplicity. ' I 
 suppose it is because he breaks the commandments. 
 But I wonder how a big licli lord can want to steal 
 anything.' Emmeline's thoughts of breaking command- 
 ments instinctively fell upon the eighth, as being in her 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 16 
 
 ideas the only case wherein the game could be consi- 
 dered as at all worth the candle. 
 
 Ethelberta said nothing ; but Christopher thought 
 that a shade of depression passed over her. 
 
 ' Hook back the gate, Joey,' shouted Emmehne, 
 when the carriage had proceeded up the drive. ' There's 
 more to come.' 
 
 Joey did as ordered, and by the time he got in- 
 doors another carriage turned in from the pubhc road 
 — a one-horse brougham this time. 
 
 ' I know who that is : that's Mr. Ladywell,' said 
 Emmeline, in the same matter-of-fact tone. ' He's been 
 here afore : he's a distant relation of the squire's, and 
 he once gave me sixpence for picking up his gloves.' 
 
 ' What shall I live to see ? ' murmured the poetess, 
 under her breath, nearly dropping her teacup in an in- 
 voluntary trepidation, from which she made it a point 
 of dignity to recover in a moment. Christopher's eyes, 
 at the mention of his rival's name, followed by that ex- 
 hibition from Ethelberta, entered her own like a pair 
 of lances. Picotee, seeing Christopher's quick look of 
 jealousy, became involved in her turn, and grew pale 
 as a lily in her endeavours to conceal the complica- 
 tions to which it gave birth in her poor little breast 
 likewise. 
 
 ' You judge me very wrongly,' said Ethelberta, in 
 answer to Christopher's hasty look of resentment. 
 
 ' In supposing Mr. Ladywell to be a great friend of 
 
164 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 yours ? ' said Christoplier, who had in some indescrib- 
 able way suddenly assumed a right to Ethclberta as his 
 old property. 
 
 ' Yes : for I hardly know him, and certainly do not 
 value him.' 
 
 After this there w^as something in the mutual look 
 of the two, though their words had been private, which 
 did not tend to remove the anguish of fragile Picotee. 
 Christopher, assured that Ethelberta's embarrassment 
 had been caused by nothing more than the sense of 
 her odd social subsidence, recovered more bhss than 
 he had lost, and regarded calmly the profile of young 
 Ladywell between the two windows of his brougham 
 as it passed the open cottage door, bearing him along 
 unconscious as the dead of the nearness of his beloved 
 one, and of the sad buffoonery that fate, fortune, and 
 the guardian angels had been playing with Ethelberta 
 of late. 
 
 ' Perhaps you remember seeing him at the Christ- 
 mas dance at Wyndway ? ' she enquired. ' He is a 
 good-natured fellow. Afterwards he sent me that 
 portfolio of sketches you see in the corner. He might 
 possibly do something in the world as a painter if he 
 were obhged to work at the art for his bread, which 
 he is not.' She added, with bitter pleasantry : ' In 
 bare mercy to his self-respect, I must remain unseen 
 
 here.' 
 
 It impressed Christopher to perceive how, under 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 165 
 
 the estrangement which arose from differences of educa- 
 tion, surroundings, experience, and talent, the sympa- 
 thies of close relationship were perceptible in Ethelberta's 
 bearing towards her brothers and sisters. At a remark 
 upon some simple pleasure wherein she had not par- 
 ticipated because absent and occupied by far more 
 comprehensive interests, a gloom as of banishment 
 would cross her face and dim it for awhile, showing 
 that the free habits and enthusiasms of country life had 
 still their charm with her, in the face of the subtler 
 gratifications of abridged bodices, candlelight, and no 
 feelings in particular, which prevailed in town. Perhaps 
 the one condition which could work up into a perma- 
 nent feeling the passing revival of his fancy for a woman 
 whose chief attribute he had supposed to be sprightli- 
 ness was added now by the romantic ubiquity of station 
 that attached to her. A discovery which might have 
 grated on the senses of a man wedded to conventionality 
 was a positive pleasure to one whose faith in society 
 had departed with his own social ruin. 
 
 The room began to darken, whereupon Christopher 
 arose to leave ; and the brothers Sol and Dan offered 
 to accompany him. 
 
166 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTEK XVI. 
 
 A TURNPIKE ROAD. 
 
 ' We be thinking of coming to London ourselves soon,' 
 said Sol, a carpenter and joiner by trade, as he walked 
 along at Christopher's left hand. ' There's so much 
 more chance for a man up the country. ISTow, if you 
 was me, how should you set about getting a job, Sir?' 
 
 ' What can you do ? ' said Christopher. 
 
 ' Well, I am a very good staircase hand ; and I have 
 been called neat at sash-frames ; and I can knock 
 together doors and shutters very well ; and I can do a 
 little at the cabinet-making. I don't mind framing a 
 roof, neither, if the rest be busy ; and I am always 
 ready to fill up my time at planing floor-boards by 
 the foot.' 
 
 ' And I can mix and lay flat tints,' said Dan, who 
 was a house-painter, ' and pick out mouldings, and 
 grain in every kind of wood you can mention — oak, 
 maple, walnut, satin-wood, cherry-tree ' 
 
 'You can- both do too much to stand the least 
 chance of being allowed to do anything in a city, where 
 limitation is all the rule in labour. To have any success, 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. ^ 167 
 
 Sol, you must be a mau who can tliorouglily look at a 
 door to see what ouf^ht to be done to it, but as to look- 
 ing at a window, that's not your line ; or a person who, 
 to the remotest particular, understands turning a screw, 
 but who does not profess any knowledge of how to 
 drive a nail. Dan must know how to paint blue to a 
 marvel, but must be rjuite in the dark about painting 
 green. If you stick to som.e such principle of specialty 
 as this, you may get employment in London.' 
 
 ' Ha-ha-ha ! ' said Dan, striking at a stone in the 
 road with the stout green hazel lie carried. ' A wink 
 is as good as a nod : thank'ee — we'll mind all that 
 now.' 
 
 ' If we do come,' said Sol, ' we shall not mix up 
 with Mrs. Petherwin at all.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed ! ' 
 
 'Oh, no. (Perhaps you think it odd that we call 
 her " Mrs. Petherwin," but that's by agreement as safer 
 and better than Berta, because we be such rough chaps 
 you see, and she's so lofty.) 'Twould demean her to 
 claim kin w^i' her in London — two journeymen like we, 
 that know nothing besides our trades.' 
 
 ' Not at all,' said Christopher, by way of chiming in 
 in the friendliest manner. ' She w^ould be pleased to 
 see any straightforward honest man and brotlier, I 
 should think, notwithstanding that she has moved in 
 other society for a time.' 
 
168 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' Ah, you don't know Berta ! ' said Dan, looking as 
 if he did. 
 
 ' How — in what way do you mean ? ' said Christo- 
 pher uneasily. 
 
 'So lofty— so very lofty! Isn't she, Sol ? Why she'll 
 never stir out from mother's till after dark, and then 
 her day begins ; and she'll traipse about under the 
 trees, and never go into the high road, so that nobody 
 in the way of gentlepeople shall run up against her and 
 know her livinii; in such a little small hut after bidin^r 
 in a big mansion-place. There, we don't find fault wi' 
 her about it : we like her just the same, though she 
 don't speak to us in the street ; for a feller must be a 
 fool to make a piece of work about a woman's pride, 
 when 'tis his own sister, and hang upon her and bother 
 her when he knows 'tis for her good that he should 
 not. Yes, her life has been quare enough. I hope she 
 enjoys it, but for my part I like plain saihng. None of 
 your ups and downs for me. There, I suppose 'twas 
 her nater to want to look into the world a bit.' 
 
 ' Father and mother kept Berta to school, you 
 understand, sir,' explained the more thoughtful Sol, 
 ' because she was such a quick child, and they always 
 had a notion of making a governess of her. Sums ? 
 If you said to that child, " Berta, 'leven-pence-three- 
 farthings a day, how much a year ? " she would tell'ee 
 in three seconds out of her own little head. And that 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 169 
 
 hard sum about the herrings she had done afore she 
 was nine.' 
 
 ' True, she had/ said Dan. 'And we all know that 
 to do that is to do something that's no nonsense.' 
 
 ' What is the sum ? ' Christopher enquired. 
 
 ' What — not know the sum about the herrings ? ' 
 said Dan, spreading his gaze all over Christopher in 
 amazement. 
 
 ' Never heard of it,' said Christopher. 
 
 ' Why down in these parts, just as you try a man's 
 soul by the Ten Commandments, you try his head by 
 that there sum — hey, Sol ? ' 
 
 'Ay, that we do.' 
 
 ' A herring and half for three-half-pence, how many 
 can ye get for 'levenpence : that's the feller ; and a 
 mortel teaser he is, I assure 'ee. Our parson, who's 
 not altogetlier without sense o' week days, said one 
 afternoon, " If cunning can be found in the multiplication 
 table at all, Chickerel, 'tis in connection with that sum." 
 Well, Berta was so clever in arithmetic that she was 
 asked to teacli summing at Miss Courtley's, and there 
 she got to like foreign tongues more than ciphering, and 
 at last she hated ciphering, and took to books entirely. 
 Mother and we were very proud of her at that time : 
 not tliat we be stuck-up people at all — be we, Sol ? ' 
 
 ' Not at all ; nobody can say that we be that, though 
 there's more of it in the country than there should be 
 by all account.' 
 
170 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' You'd be surprised to see how vain the girls about 
 here be getting. Little rascals, why they won't curtsey 
 to the loftiest lady in the land ; no, not if j^ou were to 
 pay 'em to do it. Xow, the men be different. Any 
 man will touch his hat for a pint of beer. But then, 
 of course, there's some difference between the two. 
 Touching your hat is a good deal less to do than bend- 
 ing your knees, as Berta used to say, when she was 
 blowed up for not doing it. She was always one of 
 the independent sort — you never seed such a maid as 
 she was ! Now, Picotee was quite the other way.' 
 
 ' Has Picotee left Sandbourne entirely ? ' 
 
 'Oh no ; she is home for the holidays. Well, Mr. 
 Julian, our road parts from yours just here, unless you 
 walk into the next town along with us. But I suppose 
 you get across to this station, and go by rail ? ' 
 
 ' I am obliged to go that way for my portmanteau,' 
 said Christopher, ' or I should have been pleased to 
 walk further. Shall I see you in Sandbourne to-mor- 
 row? I hope so.' 
 
 ' Well, no. 'Tis hardly likely that you will see us — 
 hardly. We know how unpleasant it is for a high sort 
 of man to have rough chaps like us hailing him, so we 
 think it best not to meet you — thank you all the same. 
 So if you should run up against us in the street, we 
 should be just -as well pleased by your taking no notice, 
 if you wouldn't mind. 'Twill save so much awkwardness 
 — being in our working clothes. 'Tis always the plan 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 171 
 
 that Mrs. Petherwin and we agree to act upon, and we 
 find it best for both. I hope you take our meaning 
 rigl:it, and as no offence, Mr. Juhan.' 
 
 ' And do you do the same with Picotee ? ' 
 ' Oh Lord, no — 'tisn't a bit of use to try. That's 
 the worst of Picotee — there's no getting rid of her. 
 The more in the rougli we be the more she'll stick to 
 us ; and if w^e say she shan't come, she'll bide and fret 
 about it till we be forced to let her.' 
 
 Christopher laughed, and promised, on condition 
 that they would retract the statement about their not 
 being proud ; and then he wished his friends Good- 
 night. 
 
172 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 AX IXXER ROOM AT THE LODGE. 
 
 At the lodge at this time a discussion of some impor- 
 tance was in progress. The scene was Mrs. Chickerel's 
 bedroom, to which, mifortunately, she was confined by 
 some spinal complaint ; and here she now appeared as 
 an interesting -faced woman of iive-and-forty, properly 
 dressed as far as visible, and propped up in a bed 
 covered with a quilt which presented a field of little 
 squares in many tints, looking altogether like a bird's- 
 eye view of a market garden. 
 
 Mrs. Chickerel had been nurse in a nobleman's 
 family until her marriage, and after that she played 
 the part of wife and mother upon tlie whole affec- 
 tionately and well. Among her minor differences with 
 her husband had been one about the naming of the 
 children ; a matter that was at last compromised by an 
 agreement under which the choice of the girls' names 
 became her prerogative, and that of the boys' her 
 husband's, who limited his field of selection to strict 
 historical precedent as a set-off to Mrs. Chickerel's 
 tendency to stray into the regions of romance. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBEllTA. 17o 
 
 The only growii-up daugliters at liome, Ethelberta 
 and Picotee, with their brother Joey, were sitting near 
 lier ; the two youngest children, Georgina and Myrtle, 
 who had been strutting in and out of the room, and 
 otherwise endeavouring to walk, talk, and speak like 
 the gentleman just gone away, were packed off to bed. 
 Emmeline, of that transitional age wliich causes its 
 exponent to look wistfully at the sitters when romping 
 and at the rompers when sitting, uncertain whether 
 her position in the household is tliat of child or 
 woman, was idling in a corner. The two absent bro- 
 thers and two absent sisters — eldest members of the 
 family — completed the round ten whom Mrs. Chickerel 
 with thoughtless readiness had presented to a crowded 
 world, to cost Ethelberta many wakeful hoiu*s at night 
 while she revolved schemes how they might be decently 
 maintained 
 
 ' I still think,' Ethelberta was saying, ' that the 
 plan I first proposed is the best. I am convinced tliat 
 it will not do to attempt to keep on the Lodge. If we 
 are all together in town, I can look after you much 
 better than when you are far away from me down 
 here.' 
 
 ' Shall we not interfere with you — your plans for 
 keeping up your connections ? ' enquired her mother 
 glancing up towards Ethelberta by lifting the flesh of 
 her forehead, instead of troubling to raise her face 
 altogether. 
 
174 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' Not nearly so much as by staying here.' 
 
 ' But,' said Picotee, ' if you let lodgings, won't the 
 gentlemen and ladies know it ? ' 
 
 ' I have thought of that,' said Ethelberta, ' and this 
 is how I shall manage. In the first place, if mother is 
 there, the lodgings can be let in her name, all bills will 
 be receipted by her, and all tradesmen's orders will be 
 given as from herself. Then, we will take no English 
 lodgers at all ; we will advertise the rooms only in 
 Continental newspapers, as suitable for a French 
 or German gentleman or two, and by this means 
 there will be little danger of my acquaintance dis- 
 covering that my house is not entirely a private one, 
 or of any lodger being a friend of my acquaintance. I 
 have thought over every possible wa}^ of combining 
 the dignified social position I must maintain to make 
 my story-telhng attractive with my absolute lack of 
 money, and I can see no better one.' 
 
 ' Then if Gwendoline is to be your cook, she must 
 soon give notice at her present place ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. Everything depends upon Gwendoline and 
 Cornelia. But there is time enough for them to give 
 notice — Christmas will be soon enough. If they cannot 
 or will not come as cook and housemaid, I am afraid 
 the plan will break down. A vital condition is that I 
 do not have a soul in the house (beyond the lodgers) 
 who is not one of mv own relations. When we have 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 175 
 
 put Joey into buttons, lie will do very well to attend to 
 the door.' 
 
 ' But s'pose/ said Joey, after a glassy look at his 
 future appearance in the position alluded to, ' that any 
 of your gentlepeople come to see ye, and when I opens 
 the door and lets 'em in a swinging big lodger stalks 
 downstairs. What will 'em think ? Up will go their 
 eyeglasses at one another till they glares each other 
 into holes. My gracious ! ' 
 
 ' The one who calls will only think that another 
 visitor is leaving, Joey. But I shall have no visitors, 
 or very few. I shall let it be well known among my 
 late friends that my mother is an invalid, and that on 
 this account we receive none but the most intimate 
 friends. These intimate friends not existing, we receive 
 nobody at all.' 
 
 ' Except Sol and Dan, if they get a job in London ? 
 They'll have to call upon us at the back door, won't 
 they, Berta ? ' said Joey. 
 
 ' They must go down the area steps. But they will 
 not mind that ; they like the idea.' 
 
 ' And father, too, must he go down the steps ? ' 
 
 ' He may come whichever way he likes. He will 
 be glad enough to have us near at any price. I know 
 that he is not at all happy at leaving you down 
 here, and he away in London. You remember that he 
 has only taken the situation at Mr. Doncastle's on tlie 
 supposition that you all come to town as soon as he 
 
176 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 can see an opening for getting you there ; and as 
 nothing of the sort has offered itself to hira, this will be 
 the very thing. Of course, if I succeed wonderfully well 
 in my schemes for story-tellings, readings of my ballads 
 and poems, lectures on tlie art of versification, and 
 what not, we need have no lodgers ; and tlien we shall 
 all be living a happy family — all taking our share in 
 keeping the establishment going.' 
 
 ' Except poor me ! ' sighed the mother. 
 
 ' My dear mother, you will be necessary as a steady- 
 ing power — a flywheel, in short, to the concern. I 
 wish that father could live there, too.' 
 
 ' He'll never give up his present way of life — it 
 has grown to be a part of his nature. Poor man, he 
 never feels at home except in somebody else's house, 
 and is nervous and quite a stranger in his own. Sich 
 is the fatal effects of service ! ' 
 
 ' Oh mother, don't ! ' said Ethelberta tenderly, but 
 with her teeth on edge ; and Picotee curled up her 
 toes, fearing that her mother was going to moralise. 
 
 ' Well, what I mean is, that your father would not 
 like to live upon your earnings, and so forth. But in 
 town we shall be near him — that's one comfort, cer- 
 tainly.' 
 
 ' And I shall not be wanted at all,' said Picotee, in 
 a melancholy tone. 
 
 ' It is much better to stay where you are,' her 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 177 
 
 mother said. ' You will come and spend the holidays 
 with us, of course, as you do now.' 
 
 ' I should hke to live in London best,' murmured 
 Picotee, her head sinking mournfully to one side. ' I 
 hate being in Sandbourne now ! ' 
 
 ' Nonsense ! ' said Ethelberta, severely. ' We are 
 all contriving how to live most comfortably, and it is 
 by far the best thing for you to stay at the school. 
 You used to be happy enough there.' 
 
 Picotee sighed, and said no more. 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 A LARGE PUBLIC HALL. 
 
 It was the second week in February, Parliament had 
 just met, and Ethelberta appeared for the first time 
 before an audience in London. 
 
 There was some novelty in the species of enter- 
 tainment that the active young woman had pro- 
 posed to herself, and this doubtless had due effect 
 in collecting the body of strangers that greeted her 
 entry, over and above those friends who came to hsten 
 to her as a matter of course. Men and women who 
 had become totally indifferent to new actresses, new 
 readers, and new singers, once more felt the freshness 
 of curiosity as they considered the promise of the an- 
 nouncement. But the chief inducement to attend lay 
 in the fact that here was to be seen in the flesh a woman 
 with whom the tongue of rumour had been busy in 
 many romantic ways — a woman who, whatever else 
 might be doubted, had certainly produced a volume of 
 verse Avhich had been the talk of the many who had 
 read them, and of the many more who had not, for 
 several consecutive weeks. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 179 
 
 What was her story to be ? Persons interested in the 
 enquiry — a small proportion, it may be owned, of the 
 whole London public, and chieHy young men — answered 
 this question for themselves by assuming that it would 
 take the form of some pungent and gratifying revelation 
 of the innermost events of her own life, from which her 
 gushing lines had sprung as an inevitable consequence, 
 and which being once known, would cause such musi- 
 cal poesy to appear no longer wonderful. 
 
 The front part of the room was well filled, rows of 
 listeners showing themselves like a drilled-in crop of 
 which not a seed has failed. They were listeners of 
 the right sort, a majority having noses of the prominent 
 and dignified type, which when viewed in oblique per- 
 spective ranged as regularly as bow-windows at a 
 watering place. Ethelberta's plan was to tell lier 
 pretended history and adventures while sitting in a 
 chair — as if she were at her own fireside, surrounded 
 by a circle of friends. By this touch of domesticity a 
 great appearance of truth and naturalness was given, 
 though really the attitude was at first more difficult to 
 maintain satisfactorily than any one wherein stricter 
 formality should be observed. She gently began her 
 subject, as if scarcely knowing whether a throng were 
 near her or not, and, in her fear of seeming arti- 
 ficial, spoke too low. This defect, however, she soon 
 corrected, and ultimately went on in a charmingly 
 colloquial manner. What Ethelberta relied upon soon 
 
180 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 became evident. It Avas not upon the intrinsic merits 
 of her story as a piece of construction, but upon her 
 method of telling it. Whatever defects the tale pos- 
 sessed — and tliey were not a few — it had, as delivered 
 by her, tlie one pre-eminent merit of seeming like 
 truth. A modern critic has well observed of Defoe that 
 he had the most amazing talent on record for telling 
 lies ; and Ethelberta, in wishing her nction to appear 
 like a real narrative of personal adventure, did wisely 
 to make Defoe her model. His is a style even better 
 adapted for speaking than for writing, and the peculi- 
 arities of diction which he adopts to give verisimilitude 
 to his narratives acquired enormous additional force 
 when exhibited as viva-voce mannerisms. And although 
 these artifices were not, perhaps, slavishly copied from 
 that master of delusion, they would undoubtedly have 
 reminded her hearers of him, had they not mostly been 
 drawn from an easeful section in society which is 
 especially characterised by the mental condition of 
 knowing nothing about any author a week after they 
 have read him. The few tliere who did remember 
 Defoe were impressed by a fancy that his words greeted 
 them anew in a winged auricular form, instead of by 
 the weaker channels of print and eyesight. The reader 
 may imagine what an effect this well-studied method 
 must have produced wlicn intensified by a clear living 
 voice, animated action, and the brilliant and expressive 
 eye of a handsome woman — attributes which of them- 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 181 
 
 selves almost compelled belief. When she reached the 
 most telling passages, instead of adding exaggerated 
 action and sound, Ethelberta would lapse to a whisper 
 and a sustained stillness, which were more striking than 
 gesticulation. All that could be done by art was 
 there, and if inspiration was wanting nobody missed it. 
 
 It was in performing this feat that Ethelberta 
 seemed first to discover in herself the full power of that 
 self-command which further onward in her career more 
 and more impressed her as a singular possession, until 
 at last she was tempted to make of it many fantastic 
 uses, leading to results that affected more households 
 than her own. A talent for demureness under diffi- 
 culties without the cold-bloodedness which renders such 
 a bearing natural and easy, a face and hand reigning 
 unmoved outside a heart by nature turbulent as a wave, 
 is a constitutional arrangement much to be desired by 
 people in general ; yet, had Ethelberta been framed 
 with less of tliat gift in her, her life might have been 
 more comfortable as an experience, and brighter as an 
 example, though perhaps duller as a story. 
 
 ' Ladywell, how came this Mrs. Petherwin to think 
 of such a queer trick as telling romances, after doing so 
 well as a poet ? ' said a man in the stalls to his friend, 
 who had been gazing at the Story-teller with a rapt 
 face. 
 
 'What — don't you know.^ — everybody did, I 
 thought,' said the painter. 
 
182 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 'A mistake. Indeed, I should not have come here 
 at all had I not lieard the subject mentioned by acci- 
 dent yesterday at Grey's ; and tlien I remembered her 
 to be the same woman I had met at some place — 
 Belmaine's I think it was — last year, when I thought 
 her just getting on for handsome and clever, not to put 
 it too strongly.' 
 
 'Ah ! natiurally you would not know much,' replied 
 Ladywell in an eager whisper. ' Perhaps I am judging 
 others by myself a little more than — but, as you have 
 heard, she is an acquaintance of mine. I know her 
 very Avell, and, in fact, I originally suggested the 
 scheme to her as a pleasant way of adding to her fame. 
 " Depend upon it, dear Mrs. Petherwin," I said, during 
 a pause in one of our dances together some time ago, 
 " any public appearance of yours would be successful 
 beyond description." ' 
 
 'Oh, I had no idea that you knew her so well ! 
 Then it is quite through you that she has adopted this 
 course ? ' 
 
 ' Well, not entirely — I could not say entirely. She 
 said that some day, perhaps, she might do such a thing ; 
 and, in short, I reduced her vague ideas to form.' 
 
 'I should not mind knowing her better — I must 
 get you to throw us together in some way,' said Neigh, 
 with some interest. ' I had no idea that you were such 
 an old friend. You could do it, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' Eeally, I am afraid — hah-hah — may not have the 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 183 
 
 opportunity of obliging you. I met her at Wyndway, 
 you know, where she was visiting with Lady Petherwin. 
 It was some time ago, and I cannot say that I have 
 ever met her since/ 
 
 ' Or before ? ' said Neigh. 
 
 ' Well — no ; I never did.' 
 
 ' Ladywell, if I had half your power of going to 
 your imagination for facts, I would be the greatest 
 painter in England.' 
 
 ' Now, Neigh — that's too bad — hah-hah — but with 
 regard to this matter, I do speak with some interest,' 
 said Ladywell, with a pleased sense of himself. 
 
 ' In love with her ? — Smitten down ? — ^Done for ? ' 
 
 ' Now, now ! However, several other fellows chaff 
 me about her. It was only yesterday that Jones 
 said ' 
 
 'Do you know why she cares to do this sort of 
 thing?' 
 
 ' Merely a desire for fame, I suppose.' 
 
 ' I should think she has fame enough already.' 
 
 ' That I can express no opinion upon. I am think- 
 ing of getting her permission to use her face in a 
 subject I am preparing. It is a fine face for canvas. 
 Glorious contour — glorious. Ah, here she is again, 
 for the second part.' 
 
 ' Dream on, young fellow. You'll make a rare 
 couple ! ' said Neigh with a flavour of superciliousness 
 unheeded by his occupied companion. 
 
184 THE ilAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 Piirther back in the room Avere a pair of faces 
 whose keen interest in the performance contrasted 
 mucli Avith the languidly permissive air of those in 
 front. When the ten-minutes' break occurred, Chris- 
 topher was the first of the two to speak. ' Well, what 
 do you think of her. Faith ? ' he said, shifting restlessly 
 on his seat. 
 
 ' I like the quiet parts of the tale best, I think/ 
 replied the sister ; ' but, of course, I am not a good 
 judge of these things. How still the people are at 
 times ! I continually take my eyes from her to look 
 at the listeners. Did you notice the fat old lady in the 
 second row, witli her cloak a little thrown back? She 
 was absolutely unconscious, and stayed with her face 
 up and lips parted like a little child of six.' 
 
 ' She well may : the thing is a triumph. That 
 fellow Ladywell is here, I believe — yes, it is he, busily 
 talking to the man on his right. If I were a woman I 
 would rather go donkey- driving than stick myself up 
 there, for gaping fops to quiz and say what they like 
 about ! But she had no choice, poor thing ; for it was 
 that or nothing with her.' 
 
 Faith, who had secret doubts about the absolute 
 necessity of Ethelberta's appearance in public, said, 
 with remote meanings, ' Perhaps it is not altogether a 
 severe punishment to her to be looked at by well- 
 dressed men. Suppose slie feels it as a blessing, instead 
 of an affliction ? ' 
 
Tin: HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 185 
 
 ' She is a different sort of woman Faith, and so you 
 would say if you knew her. Of course, it is natural 
 for you to criticise her severely just now, and I don't 
 wish to defend her.' 
 
 ' I think you do a little. Kit.' 
 
 ' No ; I am indifferent about it all. Perhaps it 
 would have been better for me if I had never seen her ; 
 and possibly it might have been better for her if she 
 had never seen me. She has a heart, and the heart is 
 a troublesome encumbrance when great things have to 
 be done. I wish you knew her : I am sure you would 
 hke each other.' 
 
 ' Oh yes,' said Faith, in a voice of rather weak con- 
 viction. ' But, as we live in such a plain way, it would 
 be hardly desirable at present.' 
 
 Ethelberta being regarded, in common with the 
 latest conjuror, spirit-medium, aeronaut, giant, dwarf, 
 or monarch, as a new sensation, she was duly criticised 
 in the morning papers, and even obtained a notice in 
 some of the weekly reviews. 
 
 ' A handsome woman,' said one of these, ' may have 
 her own reasons for causing the flesh of the London 
 public to creep upon its bones by her undoubtedly 
 remarkable narrative powers ; but we question if much 
 good can result from such a form of entertainment. 
 Nevertheless, some praise is due. We have had the 
 novel-writer amonc]^ us for some time, and the novel- 
 
186 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 reader has occasionally appeared on our platforms ; but 
 we believe that this is the first instance on record of a 
 Novel-teller — one, that is to say, who relates professedly 
 as fiction a romantic tale which has never been printed 
 — the whole owing its chief interest to the method 
 whereby the teller identifies herself with the leading 
 character in the story.' 
 
 Another observed : ' When once we get away from 
 the magic influence of the story-teller's eye and tongue, 
 we perceive how improbable, even impossible, is the 
 tissue of events to which we have been Hstening with so 
 great a sense of reality, and we feel almost angry with 
 ourselves at having been the victims of such utter 
 illusion.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Petherwin's personal appearance is decidedly 
 in her favour,' said another. ' She affects no uncon- 
 sciousness of the fact that form and feature are no mean 
 vehicles of persuasion, and she uses the powers of each 
 to the utmost. There spreads upon her face when in 
 repose an air of innocence which is charmingly belied 
 by the subtlety we discover beneath it when she begins 
 her tale ; and this amusing discrepancy between her 
 physical presentment and the inner woman is further 
 illustrated by the misgiving, which seizes us on her 
 entrance, that so impressionable a lady will never bear 
 up in the face of so trying an audience. . . . The com- 
 binations of incident which Mrs. Petherwin persuades 
 her hearers that she has passed through are not a little 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 187 
 
 marvellous ; and if what is rumoured be true, that the 
 tales are to a great extent based upon her own ex- 
 periences, she has proved herself to be no less daring in 
 adventure than facile in her power of describing it.' 
 
188 THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBEKTA. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ETHELBERTAS HOUSE. 
 
 After such successes as these, Christopher could not 
 forego the seductive intention of caUing upon the poetess 
 and romancer, at her now established town resi- 
 dence in Connaught Crescent. One wintry afternoon he 
 reached the door — now for the third time — and gave a 
 knock which had in it every tender refinement that 
 could be thrown into the somewliat antagonistic vehicle 
 of noise. Turning his face down the street he waited 
 restlessly on the step. There was a strange light in the 
 atmosphere : the glass of the street-lamps, the varnished 
 back of a passing cab, a milk-woman's cans, and a row 
 of church-windows glared in his eyes like new-rubbed 
 copper ; and on looking the other way he beheld a 
 bloody sun hanging among the chimneys at the upper 
 end, as a danger-lamp to warn him off. 
 
 By this time the door was opened, and before him 
 stood Ethelberta's young brother Joey, thickly popu- 
 lated with little buttons, the remainder of him consist- 
 ing of invisible green. 
 
 ' Ah, Joseph ! ' said Christopher, instantly recogni- 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 189 
 
 sing the boy. ' What, are you here in ofRce ? Is 
 your ' 
 
 Joey lifted his forefinger and spread his mouth in 
 a genial manner, as if to signify particular friendhness 
 mingled with general caution. 
 
 ' Yes, sir, Mrs. Petherwin is my mistress. I'll see 
 if she is at home, sir,' he replied, raising his shoulders 
 and winking a wink of strategic meanings by way of 
 finish — all which signs showed, if evidence were wanted, 
 how effectually tliis pleasant young page understood, 
 though quite fresh from Wessex, the duties of his 
 peculiar position. Mr. Julian was shown to the drawing- 
 room, and there he found Ethelberta alone. 
 
 She gave him a hand so cool and still that Chris- 
 topher, much as he desired the contact, was literally 
 ashamed to let her see and feel his own, trembling with 
 unmanageable excess of feeling. It was always so, 
 always had been so, always would be so, at these meet- 
 ings of theirs: she was immeasurably the strongest; 
 and the deep-eyed young man fancied, in the chagrin 
 which the perception of this difference always bred in 
 liim, that she triumphed in lier superior control. Yet 
 it was only in little things that their sexes were thus 
 reversed : Christopher would receive quite a shock if a 
 httle dog barked at his heels, and be totally unmoved 
 when in danger of his life. 
 
 Certainly the most self-possessed woman in the 
 world, under pressure of the incongruity between their 
 
190 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 last meeting and the present one, might have shown 
 more embarrassment than Ethelberta showed on greeting 
 him to-day. Christopher was only a man in believing that 
 the shyness which she did evince was chiefly the result 
 of personal interest. She might or might not have 
 been said to blush — perhaps the stealthy change upon 
 her face was too slow an operation to deserve that 
 name : but, though pale when he called, the end of ten 
 minutes saw her colour high and wide. She soon set 
 him at his ease, and seemed to relax a long-sustained 
 tension as she talked to him of her arrangements, 
 hopes, and fears. 
 
 ' And how do you like London society ? ' said 
 Ethelberta. 
 
 ' Pretty well, as far as I have seen it : to the surface 
 of its front door.' 
 
 ' You will find nothing to be alarmed at if you get 
 inside.' 
 
 ' Oh, no— of course not — except my own short- 
 comings,' said the modest -musician. ' London society 
 is made up of much more refined people than society 
 anywhere else.' 
 
 ' That's a very prevalent opinion ; and it is nowhere 
 half so prevalent as in London society itself However, 
 come and see my house — unless you think it a trouble 
 to look over a house ? ' 
 
 ' Xo ; I should like it very much.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 191 
 
 The decorations tended towards the artistic gym- 
 nastics prevalent in some quarters at the present day. 
 Upon a general flat tint of duck's-egg green appeared 
 quaint patterns of conventional foliage, and birds, done 
 in bright auburn, several shades nearer to redbreast- 
 red than was Ethelberta's hair, which was thus thrust 
 further towards brown by such juxtaposition — a possi- 
 ble reason for the choice of tint. Upon the glazed tiles 
 within the chimney-piece were the forms of owls, bats, 
 snakes, frogs, mice, spiders in their webs, moles, and 
 other objects of aversion and darkness, shaped in black 
 and burnt in after the approved fashion. 
 
 ' My brothers Sol and Dan did most of the actual 
 work,' said Ethelberta, 'though I drew the outlines, 
 and designed the tiles round the fire. The flowers, 
 mice, and spiders are done very simply, you know : you 
 only press a real flower, mouse, or spider out flat under 
 a piece of glass, and then copy it, adding a little more 
 emaciation and angularity at pleasure.' 
 
 ' In that " at pleasure "• is where all the art lies,* 
 said he. 
 
 'Well, yes — that is the case,' said Ethelberta, 
 thoughtfully ; and, preceding him upstairs, she threw 
 open a door on one of the floors, disclosing Dan in 
 person, engaged upon a similar treatment of this floor 
 also. Sol appeared bulging from the door of a closet, 
 a little further on, where he was fixing some shelves ; 
 
192 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 and both wore workmen's blouses. At once coming 
 down from the short ladder he ^vas standing upon, Dan 
 shook Christopher's hand with some velocity. 
 
 ' We do a little at a time, you see,' he said, ' because 
 Colonel down below, and Mrs. Pethcrwin's \isitors, 
 shan't smell the turpentine.' 
 
 ' We be pushing on to-day to get it out of the way,' 
 said Sol, also coming forward and greeting their visitor, 
 but more reluctantly than his brother had done. ' Now 
 I'll tell ye w^hat — you two,' he added, after an uneasy 
 pause, turning fi'om Christopher to Ethelberta and back 
 again in great earnestness : ' you'd better not bide 
 here, talking to we rough ones, you kno'w, for folks 
 might find out that there's something closer between 
 us than workmen and employer and employer's friend. 
 So Berta and Mr. Julian, if you'll go on and take no 
 more notice o' us, in case of visitors, it would be ^viser 
 — else, perhaps, if we should be found out intimate 
 with ye, and bring down your gentility, you'll blame 
 us for it. I get as nervous as a cat when I think I may 
 be the cause of any disgrace to ye.' 
 
 ' Don't be so silly, Sol,' said Ethelberta, laughing. 
 
 ' Ah, that's all very well,' said Sol with an unbe- 
 lieving smile ; ' but if we baint company for you out of 
 doors, you baint company for we within — not that I 
 find fault with ye or miud it, and shan't take anything 
 for painting your house, nor will Dan neither, any more 
 for that — no, not a penny; in fact, we are glad to do 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 193 
 
 it for ye. At the same time, you keep to your class, 
 and we'll keep to ours. And so, good afternoon, Berta, 
 when you like to go, and the same to you, Mr. Julian. 
 Dan, is that your mind ? ' 
 
 ' I can but own it,' said Dan. 
 
 The two brothers then turned their backs upon 
 their visitors, and went on working, and Ethelberta and 
 her lover left the room. ' My brotJiers, you perceive,' 
 said she, ' represent the respectable British workman in 
 his entirety, and a touchy individual he is, I assure you, 
 on points of dignity, after imbibing a few town ideas 
 from his leaders. They are painfully off-hand with me, 
 absolutely refusing to be intimate, from a mistaken 
 notion that I am ashamed of their dress and manners ; 
 which, of course, is absurd.' 
 
 ' Which, of course, is absurd,' said Christopher. 
 
 ' Of course it is absurd ! ' she repeated with warmth, 
 and looking keenly at him. But, finding no harm in 
 his face, she continued as before : ' Yet, all the time, 
 they will do anything under the sun that they think 
 will advance my interests. In our hearts we are one. 
 All they ask me to do is to leave them to themselves, 
 and therefore I do so. Now, would you like to see 
 some more of your acquaintance ? ' 
 
 She introduced him to a large attic ; where he found 
 himself in the society of two or three persons consi- 
 derably below the middle height, whose manners were 
 of that gushing kind sometimes called Continental, 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
104 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 their ages ranging from five years to eight. These 
 were the youngest children, presided over by Emme- 
 line, as professor of letters capital and small. 
 
 ' I am giving them the rudiments of education here,' 
 said Ethelberta ; ' but I foresee several difficulties in 
 the way of keeping them here, which I must get over 
 as best I can. One trouble is, that they don't get 
 enough air and exercise.' 
 
 ' Is Mrs. Chickerel living here as well ? ' Christo- 
 pher ventured to enquire, when they were downstairs 
 again. 
 
 ' Yes ; but confined to her room as usual, I regret 
 to say. Two more sisters of mine, whom you have 
 never seen at all, are also here. They are older than 
 any of the rest of us, and had, broadly speaking, no 
 education at all, poor girls. The eldest, GwendoHne, 
 is my cook, and Cornelia is my housemaid. I suffer 
 much sadness, and almost misery sometimes, in reflect- 
 ing that here are we, ten brothers and sisters born of 
 one father and mother, who might have mixed together 
 and shared all in the same scenes, and been properly 
 happy, if it were not for the strange accidents that 
 have split us up into sections as you see, cutting me off 
 from them without the compensation of joining me to 
 any others. They are all true as steel in keeping the 
 secret of our kin, certainly ; but that brings little joy, 
 though some satisfaction perhaps.' 
 
 ' You might be less despondent, I think. The 
 tale-tellini:,^ has been one of tlic successes of the season.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 195 
 
 ' Yes, I might ; but I may observe that you scarcely 
 set the example of blitheness/ 
 
 ' Ah — that's not because I don't recognise the plea- 
 sure of being here. It is from a more general cause : 
 simply an underfeeling I have that at the most pro- 
 pitious moment the distance to the possibility of sorrow 
 is so short that a man's spirits must not rise higher 
 than mere cheerfulness out of bare respect to his in- 
 sight. 
 
 As long as skies are blue, and fields are green, 
 Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, 
 Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.' 
 
 Ethelberta bowed uncertainly ; tlie remark might 
 refer to her past conduct or it might not. ' My great 
 cause of uneasiness is the children,' she presently said, 
 as a new page of matter. ' It is my duty, at all risk 
 and all sacrifice of sentiment, to educate and provide 
 for them. The grown-up ones, older than myself, I 
 cannot help much, but the little ones I can. I keep 
 my two French lodgers for the sake of them.' 
 
 ' The lodgers, of course, don't know the relation- 
 ship between yourself and the rest of the people in the 
 house ? ' 
 
 ' no ! — nor will they ever. My mother is sup- 
 posed to let the ground and first floors to me — a strange 
 lady — as she does the second and tliird floors to them. 
 Still, I may be discovered.' 
 
 ' Well — if you are ? ' 
 
 2 
 
196 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ' Let me be. Life is a battle, they say ; but it is 
 only so in the sense that a game of chess is a battle — 
 there is no seriousness in it ; it may be put an end to 
 at any inconvenient moment by owning yourself beaten, 
 with a careless " Ha-ha ! " and sweeping your pieces 
 into the box. Experimentally, I care to succeed in 
 society ; but at the bottom of my heart, I don't 
 care.' 
 
 ' For that very reason you are likely to do it. My 
 idea is, make ambition your business and indifference 
 your relaxation, and you will fail ; but make indiffe- 
 rence your business and ambition your relaxation, and 
 you will succeed. So impish are the ways of the 
 gods.' 
 
 ' I hope that you at any rate will succeed,' she 
 said, at the end of a silence. 
 
 ' I never can — if success means getting what one 
 wants.' 
 
 ' Why should you not get that ? ' 
 
 ' It has been forbidden to me.' 
 
 Her complexion changed just enough to show that 
 she knew what he meant. ' If you were as bold as you 
 are subtle, you would take a more cheerful view of the 
 matter,' she said, with a look signifying innermost 
 things. 
 
 ' I will instantly ! Shall I test the truth of my 
 cheerful view by a word of question ? ' 
 
 * I deny that you are capable of taking that view, 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 197 
 
 and until you prove that you are, no question is 
 allowed,' she said, laughing, and still warmer in the 
 face and neck. ' Nothing but melancholy, gentle me- 
 lancholy, now as in old times when there was nothing 
 to cause it.' 
 
 ' Ah — you only tease.' 
 
 ' You will not throw aside that bitter medicine of 
 distrust, for the world. You have grown so used to it, 
 that you take it as food, as some invalids do their 
 mixtures.' 
 
 ' Ethelberta, you have my heart — my whole heart. 
 You have had it ever since I first saw you. Now you 
 understand me, and no pretending that you don't, 
 mind, this second time.' 
 
 ' I understood you long ago ; you have not under- 
 stood me.' 
 
 ' You are mysterious,' he said lightly ; ' and per- 
 haps if I disentangle your mystery I shall find it to 
 cover — indifference. I hope it does — for your sake.' 
 
 ' How can you say so ! ' she exclaimed reproach- 
 fully. ' Yet I wish it did too — I wish it did cover 
 indifference — for yours. But you have all of me that 
 you care to have, and may keep it for life if you wish 
 to. Listen, surely there was a knock at the door? 
 Let us go inside the room : I am always uneasy when 
 anybody comes, lest any awkward discovery should be 
 made by a visitor of my miserable contrivances for 
 keeping up the establishment.' 
 
198 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 Joey met them before they had left the landing. 
 
 ' Please, Berta,' he whispered, ' Mr. Lady well has 
 called, and I've showed him into the liberry. You 
 know, Berta, this is how it was, you know : I thought 
 you and Mr. Julian were in the drawing-room, and 
 wouldn't want him to see ye together, and so I asked 
 him to step into the hberry a minute.' 
 
 ' You must improve your way of speaking,' she 
 said, with quick embarrassment, whether at the men- 
 tion of Ladywell's name before Juhan, or at the way 
 Joey coupled herself with Christopher, was quite un- 
 certain. ' Will you excuse me for a few moments ? ' 
 she said, turning to Christopher. ' Pray sit down ; I 
 shall not be long.' And she glided downstairs. 
 
 They had been standing just by the drawing-room 
 door, and Christopher turned back into the room with 
 no very satisfactory countenance. It was very odd, he 
 thought, that she should go down to Ladywell in that 
 mysterious manner, when he might have been admitted 
 to where they were talking without any trouble at all. 
 What could Ladywell have to say, as an acquaintance 
 calling upon her for a few minutes, that he was not to 
 hear ? Indeed, if it came to that, what right had Lady- 
 well to call upon her at all, even though she were a 
 widow, and to some extent chartered to live in a way 
 which might be considered a trifle free if indulged in 
 by other young women. This was the first time that 
 he himself had ventured into her house on that very 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 199 
 
 account — a doubt whether it was quite proper to call, 
 considering her youth, and the fertihty of her position 
 as ground for scandal. But no sooner did he arrive 
 than here was Ladywell blundering in, and, since this 
 conjunction had occurred on his first visit, the chances 
 were that Ladywell came very often. 
 
 Julian walked up and down the room, every mo- 
 ment expanding itself to a minute in his impatience at 
 the delay and vexation at the cause. After scrutinising 
 for the fifth time every object on the walls as if afflicted 
 with microscopic closeness of sight, his hands under his 
 coat-tails, and his person jigging up and down upon his 
 toes, he heard her coming up the stairs. When she 
 entered the apartment her appearance was decidedly 
 that of a person subsiding after some little excitement. 
 
 ' I did not calculate upon being so long,' she said 
 sweetly, at the same time throwing back her face and 
 smiling. ' But I — was longer than I expected.' 
 
 ' It seemed rather long,' said Christopher, gloomily ; 
 ' but I don't mind it.' 
 
 ' I am glad of that,' said Ethelberta. 
 
 ' As you asked me to stay, I was very pleased to do 
 so, and always should be ; but I think that now I will 
 wish you good-bye.' 
 
 ' You are not vexed with me ? ' she said, looking 
 quite into his face. 'Mr. Ladywell is nobody, you 
 know.' 
 
 'Nobody?' 
 
200 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' Well, he is not much, I mean. The case is, that 
 I am sitting to him for a subject in whicli my face is to 
 be used — otherwise than as a portrait — and he called 
 about it.' 
 
 ' May I say,' said Christopher, ' that if you want 
 yourself painted, you are ill-advised not to let it be 
 done by a man who knows how to use the brush a 
 little?' 
 
 ' Oh, he can paint ! ' said Ethelberta, rather warmly. 
 ' His last picture was excellent, I think. It was greatly 
 talked about.' 
 
 ' I imagined you to say that he was a mere nobody!* 
 ' Yes, but — how provoking you are ! — nobody, I 
 mean, to talk to. He is a true artist, nevertheless.' 
 
 Christopher made no reply. The warm under- 
 standing between them had quite ended now, and there 
 was no fanning it up again. Sudden tiffs had been the 
 constant misfortune of their courtship in days gone by, 
 had been the remote cause of her marriage to another ; 
 and the familiar shadows seemed to be rising again to 
 cloud them with the same persistency as ever. Chris- 
 topher went downstairs with well-behaved moodiness, 
 and left the house forthwith. The postman came to 
 the door at the same time. 
 
 Ethelberta opened a letter from Picotee — now at 
 Sandbourne again ; and, stooping to the fire-light, she 
 began to read : 
 
 ' My dear Ethelberta, — I have tried to like staying 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 201 
 
 at Sand bourne because you wislied it, but I can't en- 
 dure the town -at all, dear Berta ; everything is so 
 wretched and dull ! Oh, I only wish you knew how 
 dismal it is here, and how much I would give to come 
 to London ! I cannot help thinking that I could do 
 better in town. You see, I should be close to you, and 
 should have the benefit of your experience. I would 
 not mind what I did for a living could I be there where 
 you all are. It is so like banishment to be here. If I 
 could not get a pupil-teachership in some London 
 school (and I believe I could by advertising) I could 
 stay with you, and be governess to Georgina and 
 Myrtle, for I am sure you cannot spare time enough to 
 teach them as they ought to be taught, and Emmeline 
 is not old enough to have any command over them. 
 I could also assist at your dressmaking, and you must 
 require a great deal of that to be done if you continue 
 to appear in public. Mr. Long read in the papers the 
 account of your first evening, and afterwards I heard 
 two ladies of our committee talking about it ; but of 
 course not one of them knew my personal interest in 
 the discussion. Now will you, Ethelberta, think if I 
 may not come ? Do, there's a dear sister ! I will do 
 anything you set me about if I may only come. 
 
 ' Your ever affectionate, 
 
 ' PiCOTEE.' 
 
 ' Great powers above — Avhat worries do beset me ! ' 
 
202 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 cried Ethelberta, jumping up. ' What can possess the 
 child so suddenly ? — she used to like Sandbourne well 
 enough ! ' She sat down, and hastily scribbled the 
 following reply : 
 
 ' My dear Picotee, — There is only a little time to 
 spare before the post goes, but I will try to answer 
 your letter at once. Whatever is the reason of this 
 extraordinary dislike to Sandboiurne ? It is a nice 
 healthy place, and you are likely to do much better 
 than either of our elder sisters if you follow straight on 
 in the path you have chosen. Of course, if such good 
 fortune should attend me that I get rich by my contri- 
 vances of public story-telling and so on, 1 shall share 
 everything with you and the rest of us, in which case 
 you shall not work at all. But (although I have been 
 unexpectedly successful so far) this is problematical ; 
 and it would be rash to calculate upon all of us being 
 able to live, or even us seven girls only, upon the 
 fortune I am going to make that Avay. So, though I 
 don't mean to be harsh, I must impress upon you the 
 necessity of going on as you are going just at present. 
 I know the place must be dull, but we must all put up 
 with dulness sometimes. You, being next to me in 
 age, must aid me as well as you can in doing some- 
 thing for the younger ones ; and if anybody at all 
 comes and lives here otherwise than as a servant, it 
 must be our father — who will not, however, at present 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 203 
 
 hear of such a thing when I mention it to liim. Do 
 think of all this, Picotee, and bear up! Perhaps we 
 shall all be happy and united some day. Joey is wait- 
 ing to run to the post-office with this at once. All are 
 well. Sol and Dan have nearly finished the repairs 
 and decorations of my house — but I w411 tell you of 
 that another time. 
 
 ' Your affectionate sister, 
 
 ' Berta.' 
 
204 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 NEAR SANDBOURNE LONDON STREETS — ETHELBERTA's. 
 
 When this letter reached its destination the next 
 morning, Pico tee, in her over-anxiety, could not bring 
 herself to read it in anybody's presence, and put it in 
 her pocket till she was on her walk across the moor. 
 She still lived at the cottage out of the town, though 
 at some inconvenience to herself, in order to teach 
 at a small village night-school whilst still carrying on 
 her larger occupation of pupil-teacher in Sandbourne. 
 
 So she walked and read, and was soon in tears. 
 Moreover, when she thought of what Ethelberta would 
 have replied had that keen sister known the wildness 
 of her true reason in wishing to go, she shuddered 
 with misery. To wish to get near a man only because 
 he had been kind to her, and had admired her pretty 
 face, and had given her flowers, to be attached to him 
 all the more because of its hopeless impracticability, 
 were things to dream of, not to tell. Picotee was quite 
 an unreasoning animal. Her sister arranged situations 
 for her, told her how to conduct herself in them, how 
 to make up anew, in unobtrusive shapes, the valuable 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 205 
 
 wearing apparel she sent from time to time — so as to 
 provoke neither exasperation in the httle gentry, nor 
 supercihousness in the big — the goodness of which 
 materials had attracted Faith Julian's quiet eyes. Ethel- 
 berta did everything for her, in short ; and Picotee 
 obeyed orders with the abstracted ease of mind which 
 people show who have their thinking done for them, 
 and put out their troubles as they do their washing. 
 She was quite willing not to be clever herself, since 
 it was unnecessary while she had a much-admired 
 sister, who was clever enough for two people and 
 to spare. 
 
 This arrangement, by which she gained an un- 
 troubled existence in exchange for freedom of will, 
 had worked very pleasantly for Picotee until the 
 anomaly of falling in love on her own account created 
 a jar in the machinery. Then she began to know how 
 wearing were miserable days, and how much more 
 wearing were miserable nights. She pictured Chris- 
 topher in London calling upon her dignified sister (for 
 Ethelberta innocently mentioned his name sometimes 
 in writing) and imagined over and over again the 
 mutual signs of warm feeling between them. And now 
 Picotee resolved upon a noble course. Like Juliet, 
 she had been troubled with a consciousness that per- 
 haps her love for Christopher was a trifle forward and 
 unmaidenly, even though she had determined never 
 to let him or anybody in the whole world know of 
 
206 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 it. To set herself to pray that she might have strength 
 to see him without a pang the lover of her sister, who 
 deserved him so much more than herself, would be a 
 grand penance and corrective. 
 
 After uttering petitions to this effect for several 
 days, she still felt very bad ; indeed, in the psycho- 
 logical difficulty of striving for what in her soul she 
 did not desire, rather worse, if anything. At last, 
 weary of walking the old road and never meeting him, 
 and blank in a general powerlessness, she wrote the 
 letter to Ethelberta, which was only tlie last one of a 
 series that had previously been written and torn up. 
 
 Now this hope had been whirled away like thistle- 
 down, and the case was grievous enough to distract a 
 crreater stoic than Picotee. The end of it was that she 
 left the school on insufficient notice, gave up her cottage 
 home on the plea — true in the letter — that she was 
 going to join a relative in London, and went off* thither 
 by a morning train, leaving her things packed ready to 
 be sent on when she should write for them. 
 
 Picotee arrived in town late on a cold February 
 afternoon, bearing; a small bag in her liand. She 
 crossed Westminster-bridge on foot just after dusk, 
 and saw a luminous haze hanging over each well- 
 hghted street as it withdrew into distance behind the 
 nearer houses, showing its direction as a train of 
 mornino^ mist shows the course of a distant stream 
 when the stream itself is hidden. The lights along the 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 207 
 
 river-side towards Charing Cross sent an inverted 
 palisade of gleaming swords down into the shaking 
 water, and the pavement ticked to the touch of pedes- 
 trians' feet, most of whom tripped along as if walking 
 only to practise a favourite quick step, and held hand- 
 kerchiefs to their mouths to strain off the river mist 
 from their lungs. She enquired her way to Connaught 
 Crescent, and between five and six o'clock reached her 
 sister's door. 
 
 Two or three minutes were passed in accumulating 
 resolution sufficient to ring the bell, which when at 
 last she did, was not performed in a way at all calcu- 
 lated to make the young man Joey hasten to the door. 
 After the lapse of a certain time he did, however, find 
 leisure to stroll and see what the caller might want, 
 out of curiosity to know who there could be in London 
 afraid to ring a bell twice. 
 
 Joey's delight exceeded even his surprise, the 
 ruling maxim of his life being the more the merrier, 
 under all circumstances. The beaming young man was 
 about to run off and announce her upstairs and down- 
 stairs, left and right, when Picotee called him hastily 
 to her. In the hall her quick young eye had caught 
 sight of an umbrella with a peculiar horn handle — an 
 umbrella she had been accustomed to meet on Sand- 
 bourne Moor on many happy afternoons. Christopher 
 was evidently in the house. 
 
 ' Joey,' she said, as if she were ready to fliint. 
 
208 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ' don't tell Berta I am come. She has company, has 
 she not ? ' 
 
 ' no — only Mr. Julian ! ' said the brother. 'He*s 
 quite one of the family.' 
 
 'Never mind — can't I go down into the kitchen 
 with you ? ' sliG enquired. There had been bHss and 
 misery mingled in those tidings, and she scarcely knew 
 for a moment which way they affected her. What she 
 did know ^vas that she had run her dear fox to earth, 
 and a sense of satisfaction at that feat prevented her 
 just now from counting the cost of the performance. 
 
 ' Does Mr. Julian come to see her very often ? ' 
 said she. 
 
 ' Oh, yes — he's always a-coming — a regular bore 
 to me.' 
 
 ' A regular what ? ' 
 
 ' Bore ! — Ah, I forgot, you don't know our town 
 words. However, come along.' 
 
 They passed by the doors on tiptoe, and their 
 mother upstairs being, according to Joey's account, 
 in the midst of a nap, Picotee was unwilling to disturb 
 her ; so they went dow^n at once to the kitchen, when 
 forward rushed Gwendoline the cook, flourishing her 
 floury hands, and Corneha the housemaid, dancing ovef 
 her brush ; and these having welcomed and made 
 Picotee comfortable, who should ring the area-bell, 
 and be admitted down the steps but Sol and Dan. 
 The workman-brothers, then* day's duties being over, 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 209 
 
 had called to see their relations, first, as usual, going 
 liome to their lodgings in Marylebone and making 
 themselves as spruce as bridegrooms of a mild kind, 
 according to the rules of their newly-acquired town 
 experience. For the London mechanic is only nine 
 hours a mechanic, though the country mechanic works, 
 eats, drinks, and sleeps a mechanic throughout the 
 whole twenty-four. 
 
 ' God bless my soul — Picotee ! ' said Dan, standing 
 fixed. ' Well — I say, this is splendid : ha-ha ! ' 
 
 ' Picotee — w^hat brought you here ? ' said Sol, ex- 
 panding the circumference of his face in satisfaction. 
 ' Well, come along — never mind so long as you be 
 here.' 
 
 Picotee explained circumstances as well as she 
 could without stating them, and, after a general conver- 
 sation of a few minutes, Sol interrupted with — ' Any- 
 body upstairs with Mrs. Petherwin ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Julian was there just now,' said Joey ; ' but 
 he may be gone. Berta always lets him slip out how 
 he can, the form of ringing me up not being necessary 
 with him. Wait a minute — I'll see.' 
 
 Joseph vanished up the stairs ; and, the question 
 whether Christopher were gone or not being an unin- 
 teresting one to the majority, the talking went on upon 
 other matters. When Joey crept down again a minute 
 later, Picotee was sitting aloof and silent, and he 
 accordingly singled her out to speak to. 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
210 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ' Such a lark, Picotee ! ' he whispered, ' Berta's 
 a-courting of her young man. Would you like to see 
 how they carries on a bit ? * 
 
 ' Dearly I shoidd ! ' said Picotee, the pupils of her 
 eyes dilating. 
 
 Joey conducted lier to the top of the basement 
 stairs, and told lier to listen. Within a few yards of 
 them was the morning-room door, now standing cnjar ; 
 and an intermittent flirtation in soft male and female 
 tones could be heard going on inside. Picotee's lips 
 parted at thus learning the condition of things, and 
 she leant against the stair-newel. 
 
 ' My ! What's the matter P ' said Joey. 
 
 ' If this is London, I don't like it at all ! ' moaned 
 Picotee. 
 
 ' Well — I never see such a girl — fainting aU over 
 the stairs for nothing in the world.' 
 
 ' Oh — it will soon be gone — it is — it is only indi- 
 gestion.' 
 
 ' Indigestion ? Much you simple country people can 
 know about that ! You should see w^hat devils of indiges- 
 tions Ave get in high life — eating 'normous great dinners 
 and suppers that require clever physicians to attend to 
 'cm, or else they'd kill us off with gout next day ; and 
 waking in the morning with such a sphtting headache, 
 and dry tliroat, and inward cusses about human nature, 
 that you feel all the world like some great lord. How- 
 ever, now let's go down again.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 211 
 
 ' No, no, no ! ' said the unhappy maiden, implor- 
 ingly. 'Hark!' 
 
 They listened again. The voices of the musician 
 and poetess had changed : there was a decided frigidity 
 in tlieir tone — then came a louder expression — then a 
 silence. 
 
 ' You needn't be afeard,' said Joey. ' They won't 
 fight; bless you, they busts out quarrelhng like this 
 times and times when they've been over-friendly, but 
 it soon gets straight with 'em again.' 
 
 There was now a quick walk across the room, and 
 Joey and his sister drew down their heads out of sight. 
 Then the room door was slammed, quick footsteps 
 went along the hall, the front door closed just as 
 loudly, and Christopher's tread passed into nothing 
 along the pavement. 
 
 * That's rather a wuss one than they mostly have ; 
 but Lord, 'tis nothing at all.' 
 
 'I don't much like biding here listening,' said 
 Picotee. 
 
 ' Oh, 'tis how we do all over the West End,' said 
 Joey. ' 'Tis yer ignorance of town life that makes it 
 seem a good deal to ye.' 
 
 ' You can't make much boast about town life ; for 
 you haven't left off talking just as they do down in 
 Wessex.' 
 
 ' Well, I own to that — what's fair is fair, and 'tis a 
 true charge ; but if I talk the Wessex way 'tisn't for 
 
212 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 waiit of knowing better ; 'tis because my stauncli nater 
 makes me bide faithful to our old ancient institutions. 
 You'd soon own 'tw^asn't ignorance in me, if you 
 knowed what large quantities of noblemen I gets mixed 
 up with every day. In fact 'tis thoughted here and 
 there that I shall do very well in the world.' 
 
 ' Well, let us go down,' said Picotee. ' Everything 
 seems so overpowering here.' 
 
 'Oil, you'll get broke in soon enough. I felt just 
 the same when I first entered into high life.' 
 
 ' Do you think Berta will be angry witli me ? How 
 does she treat you ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I can't complain. You see she's my own 
 flesh and blood, and what can I say ? But, in secret 
 trutli, the wages is terrible low, and barely pays for 
 the tobacco I consooms.' 
 
 ' Oh, Joey, you wicked boy ! If mother only knew 
 that you smoked ! ' 
 
 ' I don't mind the wickedness so much as the smell. 
 And Mrs. Petherwin has got such a nose for a fellow's 
 clothes. 'Tis one of the greatest knots in service — the 
 smoke question. 'Tis thoughted that we shall make a 
 great stir about it in the mansions of the nobility soon.' 
 
 'How much more you know^ of life than I do — 
 you only fourteen and me seventeen ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, that's true. You see, age is nothing — 'tis 
 opportunity. And even I can't boast, for many a 
 younger man knows more,' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 213 
 
 ' But don't smoke, Joey — there's a dear ! ' 
 
 ' What can I do ? Society hev its rules, and if a 
 person wishes to keep himself up, he must do as the 
 workl do. We be all Fashion's slave — as much a slave 
 as the meanest in the land!' 
 
 They got downstairs again ; and when the dinner 
 of the French lady and gentleman had been sent up 
 and cleared away, and also Ethelberta's evening tea 
 (which she formed into a genuine meal, making a 
 dinner of luncheon, when nobody was there, to give 
 less trouble to her servant-sisters), they all sat round 
 the fire. Then the rustle of a dress was heard on the 
 staircase, and squirrel-haired Ethelberta appeared in 
 person. It was her custom thus to come down every 
 spare evening, to teach Joey and her sisters something 
 or other — mostly French, which she spoke lluently ; 
 but the cook and housemaid showed more ambition 
 than intelligence in acquiring that tongue, though Joey 
 learnt it readily enough. 
 
 There was consternation in the camp for a moment 
 or two, on account of poor Picotee, Ethelberta being 
 not without firmness in matters of discipline. Her 
 eye instantly lighted upon her disobedient sister, now 
 looking twice as disobedient as she really was. 
 
 ' Oh, you are here, Picotee P I am glad to see 
 you,' said the mistress of the house, quietly. 
 
 This was altogether to Pico tee's surprise, for she 
 had expected a round rating at least, in her freshness 
 
214 THE HAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 hardly being aware that this reserve of feehng was an 
 acquired liabit of Ethelberta's, and tliat civility stood 
 in town for as much vexation as a tantrum represented 
 in Wessex. 
 
 Picotee lamely explained her outward reasons for 
 coming, and soon began to find that Ethelberta's 
 opinions on the matter would not be known by the 
 tones of her voice. But innocent Picotee was as wily 
 as a rehgionist in sly elusions of the letter whilst in- 
 fringing the spirit of a dictum ; and 1)y talking very 
 softly and earnestly about the wondrous good she could 
 do by remaining in the house as governess to the chil- 
 dren, and playing the part of lady's-maid to her sister 
 at show times, she so far coaxed Ethelberta out of her 
 intentions that she almost accepted the plan as a good 
 one. It was agreed that for the present, at any rate, 
 Picotee should remain. Then a visit was made to Mrs. 
 Chickerel's room, where the remainder of the eveniuf? 
 was passed ; and harmony reigned in the household. 
 
THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 215 
 
 CHAPTER XXT. 
 
 ethelberta's drawixg-room. 
 
 Picotee's heart was fitfully glad. She was near the 
 man who had enlarged her capacity from ghl's to 
 woman's, a little note or two of young feeling to a 
 whole diapason ; and though nearness was perhaps not 
 in itself a great reason for felicity Avhen viewed beside 
 the complete realisation of all that a. woman can desire 
 in such circumstances, it was much in comparison with 
 the outer darkness of the previous time. . . 
 
 It became evident to all the flimily that some mis- 
 understanding had arisen between Ethelberta and Mr. 
 Julian. What Picotee hoped in the centre of her 
 heart as to the issue of the affair it would be too com- 
 plex a thing to say. If Christopher became cold to- 
 wards her sister lie would not come to the house ; if he 
 continued to come it would really be as Ethelberta's 
 lover — altogether, a pretty game of })erpetual check for 
 Picotee. 
 
 He did not make his appearance for several days. 
 Picotee being a presentable girl, and decidedly finer- 
 natured than her sisters below stairs, she sat occa- 
 
216 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 sioiially with Ethelberta in tlie afternoon Avlien the 
 teaching of the little ones had been done for the day ; 
 and thus she had an opportunity of observing Ethel- 
 berta's emotional condition Avith reference to Christo- 
 pher, which Picotee did with an interest that the elder 
 sister was very far from suspecting. 
 
 At first Ethelberta seemed blithe enough without 
 him. One more day went, and he did not come, and 
 then her manner was that of apathy. Another day 
 passed, and from fanciful elevations of the eyebrow, 
 and long breathings, it became apparent that Ethel- 
 berta had decidedly passed the indifferent stage, and 
 was getting seriously out of sorts about him. i^ext 
 morning she looked all hope. He did not come that 
 day either, and Ethelberta began to look pale with fear. 
 ' Why don't you go out ? ' said Picotee, timidly. 
 ' I can hardly tell : I have been expecting someone.' 
 ' When she comes I must run up to mother at once, 
 must I not ? ' said clever Picotee. 
 
 ' It is not a lady,' said Ethelberta, blandly. She 
 came then and stood by Picotee, and looked musingly 
 out of the window. ' I may as well tell you, perhaps,' 
 she continued. ' It is Mr. Julian. He is — I suppose 
 — my lover, in plain English.' 
 ' Ah ! ' said Picotee. 
 
 ' Whom I am not going to marry until he gets rich.' 
 ' Ah — how strange ! If I had him — such a lover, 
 I mean — I would marry him if he continued poor.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 217 
 
 'I don't doubt it, Picotee ; just as you come to 
 London without caring about consequences, or would 
 do any other crazy thing and not mind in the least 
 what came of it. But somebody in tlie family must 
 take a practical view of affairs, or we should all go 
 to the dogs.' 
 
 Picotee recovered from the snubbing which she 
 felt that she deserved, and charged gallantly by saying, 
 with delicate showings of indifference, ' Do you love 
 this Mr. What's his-name of yours ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Julian ? Oh, he's a very gentlemanly man. 
 That is, except when he is rude, and ill-uses me, and 
 will not come and apologise ! ' 
 
 ' If I had him — a lover, I would ask him to come 
 if I wanted him to.' 
 
 Ethelberta did not give her mind to this remark ; 
 but, drawing a long breath, said, with a pouting laugh, 
 which presaged unreality, ' The idea of his getting 
 indifferent now ! I have been intending to keep him 
 on until I got tired of his attentions, and then put an 
 end to them by marrying him ; but here is he, before 
 he has hardly declared himself, forgetting my existence 
 as much as if he liad vowed to love and cherish me for 
 life. 'Tis an unnatural inversion of the manners of 
 good society.' 
 
 ' When did you first get to care for him, dear 
 Berta ? ' 
 
 ' Oh — w1ien I had seen him once or twice.' 
 
218 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' Goodness — how quick you were ! ' 
 
 ' Yes — if I am in the mind for loving I am not to 
 be hindered by shortness of acquaintanceship.' 
 
 ' JSTor I neither ! ' sighed Picotee. 
 
 ' Nor any other woman. We don't need to know 
 a man well in order to love him. That's only neces- 
 sary wdien we want to leave off.' 
 
 ^ Oh, Berta — you don't beheve that ! ' 
 
 • If a woman did not invariably form an opinion of 
 her choice before she has half seen him, and love him 
 before she has half formed an opinion, there would be 
 no tears and pining in the Avhole feminine ^v^orld, and 
 poets would starve for want of a topic-. I don't believe 
 it, do you say? Ah, well, we shall see.' 
 
 Picotee did not know what to say to this ; and 
 Ethelberta left the room to see about her duties as 
 public story-teller, in ^vhich capacity she had under- 
 taken to appear again tliis very evening. 
 
" Goodness I How quick yott were! 
 
I 
 
THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 219 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF THE HALL THE 
 
 ROAD HOME. 
 
 London was illuminated by the broad full moon. The 
 pavements looked wliite as if mantled with snow ; 
 ordinaiy houses were sublimated to the rank of public 
 buildings, public buildings to palaces, and the faces of 
 women walking the streets to those of calendared saints 
 and guardian-angels, by the pure bleaching light from 
 the sky. 
 
 In the quiet little street where opened the private 
 door of the Hall chosen by Ethelberta for her story- 
 telling, a brougham was waiting. The time was about 
 eleven o'clock ; and presently a lady came out from the 
 building, the moonbeams forthwith flooding her face, 
 -which they showed to be that of the Storj^-teller herself. 
 !She hastened across to the carriage, when a second 
 thought arrested her motion : teUing the man-servant 
 and a female inside the brougham to wait for her, she 
 wrapped up her features and glided round to the front 
 of the house, where she paused to observe the car- 
 riages and cabs driving up to receive the fashionable 
 
220 THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 crowd stepping down from the doors. Standing here 
 in the throng which her own talent and ingenuity had 
 drawn together, she appeared to enjoy herself by listen- 
 ing for a minute or two to the names of several persons 
 of more or less distinction as they were called out, and 
 then regarded attentively the f^xces of others of lesser 
 degree : to scrutinise the latter was, as the event proved, 
 the real object of the journey from round the corner. 
 When nearly everyone had left the doors, she turned 
 back disappointed. Ethelberta had been fancying that 
 lier ahenated lover Christopher was in the back rows 
 to-night, but, as far as could now be observed, the hope- 
 ful supposition was a false one. 
 
 When she got round to the back again, a man came 
 forward. It was Lady well, whom she had spoken to 
 already that evening. ' Allow me to bring you your 
 note-book, Mrs. Petherwin : I tliink you had forgotten 
 it,' he said. ' I assure you that nobody has handled it 
 but myself 
 
 Ethelberta thanked him, and took the book. ' I use 
 it to look into between the parts, in case my memory 
 should fail me,' she explained. 'I remember that I did 
 lay it down, now you remind me.' 
 
 Ladywell had apparently more to say, and moved 
 by her side towards the carriage ; but she declined the 
 arm he offered, and said not another word till he went 
 on, haltingly : 
 
 ' Your triumph to-night was very great, and it was 
 
 I 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 221 
 
 as much a triumph to me as to you ; I cannot express 
 my feehng — I cannot say half tliat I would. If I might 
 only ' 
 
 'Thank you much,' said Ethelberta, with dignity. 
 'Thank you for bringing my book, but I must go home 
 now. I know that you will see that it is not necessary 
 for us to be talking here.' 
 
 ' Yes — you are quite right,' said the repressed young 
 painter, struck by her seriousness. ' Blame me ; I 
 ought to have known better. But perhaps a man — 
 well, I will say it — a lover without indiscretion is no 
 lover at all. Circumspection and devotion are a con- 
 tradiction in terms. I saw that, and hoped that I 
 might speak without real harm. 
 
 ' You calculated how to be un calculating, and are 
 natural by art ! ' she said, with the slightest accent of 
 sarcasm. • But pray do not attend me further — it is 
 not at all necessary or desirable. My maid is in the 
 carriage.' She bowed, turned, and entered the vehicle, 
 seating herself beside Picotee. 
 
 ' It was harsh ! ' said Ladywell to himself, as he 
 looked after the retreating carriage. ' I was a fool ; 
 but it was harsh. Yet what man on earth likes a 
 woman to show too great a readiness at first ? She is 
 right : she would be nothing without repulse ! ' And he 
 moved away in an opposite direction. 
 
 ' What man was that ? ' said Picotee, as they drove 
 along. 
 
222 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' Oh — a mere Mr. Ladywell : a painter of good 
 family (infrequent combination, is it not?) to whom I 
 have been sitting for what lie calls an Idealisation. He 
 is a dreadful simpleton.' 
 
 • Why did you choose him ? ' 
 
 ' I did not : lie chose me. But his silliness of 
 behaviour is a hopeful sign for the picture. I have 
 seldom known a man cunning with his brush who was 
 not simple with his tongue ; or, indeed, any skill in 
 particular that was not allied to general stupidity.' 
 
 ' Yoiu' own skill is not like that, is it, Berta ? ' 
 
 ' In men — in men. I don't moan in women. How 
 childish you are ! ' 
 
 The shght depression at finding that Christopher 
 was not present, which had followed Ethelberta's public 
 triumph that evening, was covered over, if not removed, 
 by Lady^vell's declaration, and she reached home serene 
 in spirit. That she had not the slightest notion of 
 acceptmg the impulsive painter made little difference ; 
 a lover's arguments being apt to affect a lady's mood as 
 much by measure as by weight. A useless declaration, 
 like a rare china tea-cup with a hole in it, has its orna- 
 mental value in enlarging a collection. 
 
 No sooner had they entered the house than Mr. 
 Julian's card was discovered ; and Joey informed them 
 that he had come particularly to speak with Ethelberta, 
 quite forgetting that it was her evening for tale-telling. 
 
 This was real dchdit, for between her excitements 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 223 
 
 Ethelberta had been seriously sick-hearted at the hor- 
 rible possibility of his never calling again. But alas ! 
 for Christopher. There being nothing like a dead 
 silence for getting one's offhand sweetheart into a 
 corner, there is nothing like prematurely ending it for 
 getting into that corner one's self 
 
 ' Now won't I punish him for daring to stay away 
 so long ! ' she exclaimed, as soon as she got upstairs. 
 'It is as bad to show constancy in your manners as 
 lickleness in your heart at such a time as this.' 
 
 ' But I thought honesty was the best policy ? ' said 
 Picotee. 
 
 ' So it is, for the man's purpose. But don't you go 
 believing in sayings, Picotee : they are all made by men, 
 for their own advantages. Women Avho use public 
 proverbs as a guide through events are those who have 
 not ingenuity enough to make private ones as each 
 event occurs.' 
 
 She sat down, and rapidly wrote a line to Mi\ 
 Julian : 
 
 ' Connauglit Crescent. 
 
 ' I return from Mayfair Hall to find you have called. 
 You will, I know, be good enough to excuse my saying 
 what seems an unfriendly thing, wlien I assure you that 
 tlie circumstances of my peculiar situation make it 
 desirable, if not necessary. It is that I beg you not to 
 give me the pleasure of a visit from you for some little 
 time, for unhappily tlie frequency of your kind calls has 
 
224 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 been noticed ; and I am now in fear that we may be 
 talked about — invidiously — to the injury of us both. 
 The towm, or a section of it, has turned its bull's-eye 
 upon me with a brightness which I did not in the least 
 anticipate ; and you will, I am sure, perceive how in- 
 dispensable it is that I should be circumspect. 
 
 ' Yours sincerely, 
 
 'E. Petherwin.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A STREET. — neigh's ROOMS. — CHRISTOPHER'S ROOMS. 
 
 As soon as Ethelberta had driven off from the Hall, 
 Ladywell turned back again ; and, passing the front 
 entrance, overtook his acquaintance Mr. Neigh, who 
 had been one of the last to emerge. The two were 
 going in the same direction, and they walked a short 
 distance together. 
 
 ' Has anything serious happened ? ' said Neigh, 
 noticing an abstraction in his companion. ' You don't 
 seem in your usual mood to-night.' 
 
 ' Oh, it is only that affair between us,' said Ladywell, 
 as one who refrained from using a pistol upon himself 
 because his life was not worth powder and shot. 
 
 ' Affair ? Between you and whom ? ' 
 
 ' Her and myself, of course. It will be in every 
 fellow's mouth now, I suppose ! ' 
 
 ' But — not anything between yourself and Mrs. 
 Petherwin ? ' 
 
 ' A mere nothing. But surely you started. Neigh, 
 when you suspected it just this moment ? ' 
 
 ' No — you merely fancied that.' 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' Did she not speak well to-night ! You were in 
 the room, I believe ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I just turned in for half an hour : it seems 
 that everybody does, so I thought I must. But I had 
 no idea that you were feeble that way.' 
 
 ' It is very kind of you, Neigh — upon my word it 
 is— very kind ; and of course I appreciate the delicacy 
 which — which ' 
 
 'What's kind?' 
 
 ' I mean your well-intentioned plan for making me 
 believe that nothing is known of this. But stories will 
 of course get wind ; and if our attachment has made 
 more noise in the world than I intended it should, and 
 causes any public interest, why — ha-ha ! — it must. 
 There is some little romance in it perhaps, and people 
 will talk of matters of that sort between individuals of 
 any repute — little as that is with one of the pair.' 
 
 ' Of course they will — of course. You are a rising 
 man, remember, whom some day the world will delight 
 to honour.' 
 
 ' Thank you for that. Neigh. Thank you sincerely.' 
 
 ' Not at all. It is merely justice to say it, and one 
 must be generous to deserve thanks.' 
 
 ' Ha-ha ! — that's very nicely put, and undeserved 
 I am sure. And yet I need a word of that sort some- 
 times ! ' 
 
 ' Genius is proverbially modest.' 
 
 ' Pray don't. Neigh — I don't deserve it, indeed. Of 
 
THE HAND OF P:TnELBP:RTA. 227 
 
 course it is Avell meant in you to recognise any slight 
 powers — ha-ha ! — but I don't deserve it. Certainly, my 
 self-assurance was never too great. 'Tis the misfortune 
 of all children of art that they should be so dependent 
 upon any scraps of praise they can pick up to help 
 them along.' 
 
 ' And when that child gets so deep in love that you 
 can only see the whites of his eyes ' 
 
 ' Ah — now, JSTeigh — don't, I say ! ' 
 
 ' But why did ' 
 
 ' Why did I love her ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, why did you love her.' 
 
 ' Ah, if I could only turn self-vivisector, and watch 
 the operation of my lieart, I should know ! ' 
 
 ' My dear fellow, you must be very bad indeed 
 to talk like that. A poet himself couldn't be cleaner 
 gone.' 
 
 ' Now, don't chaff. Neigh ; do anything, but don't 
 chaff. You know that I am the easiest man in the 
 world for taking it at most times. But I can't stand it 
 now ; I don't feel up to it. A glimpse of paradise, and 
 then perdition. What would you do, Neigh ? ' 
 
 ' She has refused you, then ? ' 
 
 ' Well — not positively refused me ; but it is so near 
 it that a dull man couldn't tell the difference. I hardly 
 can myself.' 
 
 ' How do you really stand witli her ? ' said Neigli, 
 with an anxiety ill-concealed. 
 
 Q '2 
 
228 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' Off and on — neither one tiling nor the other. I 
 was determined to make an effort the last time she sat 
 to me, and so I met her quite coolly, and spoke only of 
 technicalities with a forced smile — you know that way 
 of mine for drawing people out, eh, JSTeigli ? ' 
 
 ' Quite, quite.' 
 
 ' A forced smile, as much as to say, " I am obliged 
 to entertain you, but as a mere model for art piu*- 
 poses." But the deuce a bit did she care. And then 
 I frequently looked to see what time it was, as the end 
 of the sitting drew near — rather a rude thing to do, as 
 a rule.' 
 
 ' Of course. But tliat was your Jinesse. Ha-ha ! — 
 capital ! Yet why not struggle against such slavery ? 
 It is regularly pulling you down. What's a woman's 
 beauty, after all ? ' 
 
 ' Well you may say so ! a thing easier to feel than 
 define,' murmured Ladywell. ' But it's no use, Neigh — 
 I can't help it as long as she repulses me so exquisitely ! 
 If she would only care for me a little, I might get to 
 trouble less about her.' 
 
 ' And love her no more than one ordinarily does a 
 girl by the time one gets irrevocably engaged to her. 
 But I suppose she keeps you back so thoroughly that 
 you carry on the old adoration with as much vigour as 
 if it were a new fancy every time ? ' 
 
 ' Partly yes, and partly no ! It's ver}^ true, and it's 
 not true ! * 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 229 
 
 ' 'Tis to be hoped she won't hate you outriglit, for 
 then you would absolutely die of idolising her.' 
 
 ' Don't, Neigh ! — still there's some truth in it — such 
 is the perversity of our hearts. Fancy marrying sucli 
 a woman ! ' 
 
 ' We should feel as eternally united to her after 
 years and years of marriage as to a dear new angel met 
 at last night's dance.' 
 
 ' Exactly — just what I should have said. But did 
 I hear you say " We," Neigh ? You didn't say " We 
 should feel ? " ' 
 
 ' Say " we "' ? — yes — of course — putting myself in 
 your place just in the way of speaking, you know.' 
 
 * Of course, of course ; but one is such a fool at 
 these times that one seems to detect rivalry in every 
 trumpery sound ! Were you never a little touched ? ' 
 
 ' Not I. My heart is in the happy position of a 
 country which has no history or debt.' 
 
 ' I suppose I should rejoice to hear it,' said Lady- 
 well. ' But the consciousness of a fellow-sufferer being 
 in just such another hole is such a relief always, and 
 softens the sense of one's folly so very much.' 
 
 ' There's less Christianity in that sentiment than in 
 your confessing to it, old fellow. I know the truth of 
 it nevertheless, and that's why married men advise 
 others to marry. Were all the world tied up, the 
 pleasantly tied ones would be equivalent to those at 
 
230 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 present free. But what if your fellow-sufferer is not 
 only in another sucli a hole, but in the same one ? ' 
 
 ' JSTo, Neigh — never ! Don't trifle with a friend 
 who ' 
 
 ' That is, refused like yourself, as well as in love/ 
 
 ' Ah, thanks, thanks ! It suddenly occurred to me 
 that we might be dead against one another as rivals, 
 and a friendship of many long — days be snapped like a 
 — like a reed.' 
 
 ' No — no — only a jest,' said Neigh, with a strangely 
 accelerated speech. ' Love-making is an ornamental 
 pursuit that matter-of-fact fellows like me are quite 
 unfit for. A man must have courted at least half-a- 
 dozen women before he's a match for one ; and since 
 triumph lies so far ahead, I shall keep out of the contest 
 altogether.' 
 
 ' Your life Avould be pleasanter if you vv^ere engaged. 
 It is a nice thing, after all.' 
 
 ' It is. The Avorst of it would be that, when the 
 time came for breaking it off, a fellow might get into 
 an action for breach — women are so fond of that sort 
 of thing now ; and I hate love-affairs that don't end 
 peaceably ! ' 
 
 ' But end it by peaceably marrying, my dear 
 fellow.' 
 
 ' It would seem so singular. Besides, I have a 
 horror of antiquity : and you see, as long as a man 
 keeps single, he belongs in a measure to the rising 
 
 i 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 231 
 
 generation, however old lie may be ; but as soon as he 
 marries and has children, lie belongs to the last gene- 
 ration, however young he may be. Old Jones's son is 
 a deal younger than young Brown's father, tliough they 
 are both the same age.' 
 
 ' At any rate, honest courtship cures a man of many 
 evils lie had no power to stem before.' 
 
 ' By substituting an incurable matrimony ! ' 
 
 ' Ah — two persons must have a mind for that 
 before it can happen ! ' said Lady well, sorrowfully 
 shakino; his head. 
 
 ' I think you'll find that if one has a mind for it, it 
 will be quite sufficient. But here we are at my rooms. 
 Come in for half an hour ? ' 
 
 ' Not to-night, thanks ! ' 
 
 They parted, and Neigh went in. When he got 
 upstairs he murmured in his deepest chest note, ' Oh, 
 lords, that I should come to this ! But I shall never 
 be such a fool as to marry her ! What a fiat that poor 
 young devil was not to discover that we were tarred 
 with the s<ime brush. Oh, the deuce ! the deuce ! ' he 
 continued, walking about the room as if passionately 
 stamping, but not quite doing it because another man 
 had rooms below. 
 
 Neigh drew from his pocket-book an envelope em- 
 bossed with the name of a fashionable photographer, 
 and out of this pulled a portrait of the lady avIio had, 
 in fact, enslaved his secret self equally with his frank 
 
232 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 young friend the painter. After contemplating it 
 awhile with a face of cynical adoration, he miurmured, 
 shaking his head, 'Ah, my lady; if you only knew 
 this, I should be snapped up like a snail ! Not a 
 minute's peace for me till I had married you. I won- 
 der if I shall ! — I wonder.' 
 
 Neigh was a man of five-and-thirty — Ladywell's 
 senior by ten years ; and, being of a phlegmatic tem- 
 perament, he had glided thus far through the period of 
 eligibility with impunity. He knew as well as any 
 man how far he could go with a woman and yet keep 
 clear of having to meet her in church without her 
 bonnet ; but it is doubtful if his mind that nisrht were 
 less disturbed with the question how to guide himself 
 out of the natural course which his passion for Ethel- 
 berta might tempt him into, than was LadywelFs by his 
 ardent wish to secure her. 
 
 About the time at which Neigh ana Ladywell 
 parted company, Christopher Julian was entering his 
 little place in Bloomsbury. The quaint figure of Faith, 
 in her bonnet and cloak, was kneeling on the hearth- 
 rug, endeavouring to stir a dull fire into a bright one. 
 
 'What — Faith! you have never been out alone ? ' 
 he said. 
 
 Faith's soft, quick-shutting eyes looked unutterable 
 things, and she rephed, ' I have been to hear Mrs. 
 Petherwin's story- telling again.' 
 
THE HAND OP ETHELBERTA. 233 
 
 'And walked all the way home through the streets 
 at this time of night, I suppose ! ' 
 
 ' WeU, nobody molested me, either going or coming 
 back.' 
 
 ' Faith, I gave you strict orders not to go into the 
 streets after two o'clock in the day, and now here you 
 are taking no notice of what I say at all ! ' 
 
 ' The truth is, Kit, I wanted to see with my spec- 
 tacles what this woman was really like, and I went 
 without them last time. I slipped in behind, and no- 
 body saw me.' 
 
 ' I don't think much of her after what I have seen 
 to-night,' said Christopher, moodily recurring to a 
 previous thought. 
 
 ' Why ? What is the matter ? ' 
 
 ' I thought I would call on her this afternoon, but 
 when I got there I found she had left early for the per- 
 formance. So in the evenincr when I thought it would 
 be all over, I went to the private door of the Hall to 
 speak to her as she came out, and ask her flatly a 
 question or two which I was fool enough to think I 
 must ask her before I went to bed. Just as I was 
 drawing near she came out, and, instead of getting into 
 the brougham that was waiting for her, she went round 
 the corner. When she came back a man met her and 
 gave her something, and they stayed talking together 
 two or three minutes. The meeting may certainly not 
 have been intentional on her part ; but she has no 
 
234 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 business to be going on so coolly when — when — in fact, 
 I have come to the conclusion that a woman's affec- 
 tion is not worth having. The only feeling which has 
 any dignity or permanence or worth is family affection 
 between close blood-relations.' 
 
 'And yet you snub me sometimes, Mr. Kit.' 
 'And, for the matter of that, you snub me. Still 
 you know what I mean — there's none of that off-and-on 
 humbug between us. If we grumble with one another 
 we are united just the same : if we don't write when 
 we are parted, we are just the same Avhen we meet — 
 there has been some rational reason for silence ; but as 
 for lovers and sweethearts, there is nothinor worth a 
 rush in what they feel ! ' 
 
 Faith said nothing in reply to this. The opinions 
 she had formed upon the wisdom of her brother's 
 pursuit of Ethelberta would liave come just then with 
 an ill grace. It nnist, however, liave been evident to 
 Christopher, had lie not been too preoccupied for 
 observation, that Faitli's impressions of Ethelberta were 
 not quite favourable as regarded her womanhood, not- 
 withstanding tliat slic greatly admired her talents. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ETHELBERTA S HOUSE 
 
 Ethelberta came indoors one day from the University 
 boat-race, and sat down, without speaking, beside 
 Picotee, as if lost in thought. 
 
 ' Did you enjoy the sight ? ' said Picotee. 
 
 'I scarcely know. We couldn't see at all from 
 Mrs. Belmaine's carriage, so two of us — very rashly — 
 agreed to get out and be rowed across to the other 
 side where the people were quite few. But when the 
 boatman had us in the middle of tlie river he declared 
 he couldn't land us on the other side because of the 
 barges ; so there we were in a dreadful state — tossed 
 up and dovv^n like corks upon great waves made by 
 steamers till I made up my mind for a drowning. 
 Well, at last we got back again, but couldn't reach the 
 carriage for the crowd ; and I don't know what w^e 
 should have done if a gentleman hadn't come — sent by 
 Mrs. Belmaine, who was in a great fright about us ; 
 then I was introduced to him, and — I wonder how it 
 will end ! ' 
 
23G THE IIAiND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ' Was there nnytliing so wonderful in the beginning, 
 then?' 
 
 ' Yes. One of the coolest and most practised men 
 in London was ill-mannered towards me from sheer 
 absence of mind — and could there be higher flattery ? 
 When a man of that sort does not give you the polite- 
 ness you deserve, it means that in his heart he is re- 
 belling against another feeling which his pride suggests 
 that you do not deserve. Oh, I forgot to say that he 
 is a Mr. Neigh, a nephew of Mr. Doncastle's, who lives 
 at ease about Piccadilly and Pall Mall, and has a few 
 acres somewhere — but I don't know much of him. 
 The worst of my position now is that I excite this 
 superficial interest in many people and a deep friend- 
 ship in nobody. If what all my supporters feel could 
 be collected into the hearts of two or three they would 
 love me better than they love themselves ; but now it 
 pervades all and operates in none.' 
 
 ' But it must operate in this gentleman ? ' 
 
 ' Well, yes— just for the present. But men in town 
 have so many contrivances for getting out of love that 
 you can't calculate upon keeping them in for two days 
 together. However, it is all the same to me. There's 
 only — ^but let that be.' 
 
 ' What is there only ? ' said Picotee, coaxingly. 
 
 'Only one man,' murmured Ethelberta, in much 
 lower tones. 'I mean, whose wife I should care to 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 237 
 
 be ; and the very qualities I like in liim will, I fear, 
 prevent his ever being in a position to ask me.' 
 
 ' Is he the man you punished the week before last 
 by forbidding him to come ? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps he is ; but he does not want civility from 
 me. Where there's much feeling, there's little cere- 
 mony.' 
 
 ' It certainly seems that he does not want civility 
 from you to make him attentive to you,' said Picotee, 
 stifling a sigh ; ' for here is a letter in his handwriting, 
 I believe.' 
 
 ' You might have given it to me at once,' said 
 Ethelberta, opening the envelope hastily. It contained 
 very few sentences : they were to the effect that Chris- 
 topher had received her letter forbidding him to call ; 
 that he had therefore at first resolved not to call or 
 ever see her more, since he had become such a shadow 
 in her path. Still, as it was always best to do nothing 
 hastily, he had on second thoughts decided to ask her 
 to grant him a last special fovour, and see him again 
 just once, for a few minutes only that afternoon, in 
 which he might at least say Farewell. To avoid all 
 possibihty of compromising her in anybody's e3^es, he 
 would call at half-past six, when other callers were 
 likely to be gone, knowing that from the peculiar 
 constitution of her household the hour would not inter- 
 fere with her arrangements. There being no time for 
 an answer, he would assume that she would see him, 
 
238 THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 and keep the engagement ; the request being one which 
 could not rationally be objected to. 
 
 " There — read it ! ' said Ethelberta, with glad dis- 
 pleasure. ' Did you ever hear such audacity ? Fixing 
 a time so soon that I cannot reply, and thus making 
 capital out of a pretended necessity, when it is really 
 an arbitrary arrangement of his own. That's real 
 rebellion — forcing himself into my house when I said 
 strictly he was not to come ; and then, that it cannot 
 rationally be objected to — I don't like his " rationally." ' 
 
 'Where there's much love there's little cere- 
 mony, didn't you say just now?' observed innocent 
 Picotee. 
 
 ' And where there's little love, no ceremony at all. 
 These manners of his are dreadful, and I beheve lie will 
 never improve.' 
 
 ' It makes you care not a bit about him, does it not, 
 Berta ? ' said Picotee, hopefully. 
 
 ' I don't answer for that,' said Ethelberta. ' I feel, 
 as many others do, that a bhndness to ceremony which 
 is produced by abstraction of mind is no defect in a 
 poet or musician, fatal as it may be to an ordinary 
 man.' 
 
 ' Mighty me ! You soon forgive him.' 
 
 ' Picotee, don't you be so quick to speak. Before 
 I have finished, how do you know what I am gomg to 
 say? I'll never tell you anything again, if you take 
 me up so. Of course I am going to punish him at 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 239 
 
 once, and make him remember that I am a lady, even 
 if I do hke him a httle.' 
 
 ' How do you mean to punish him ? ' said Picotee, 
 with interest. 
 
 ' By writing and telHng him that on no account is 
 he to come.' 
 
 ' But there is not time for a letter ' 
 
 ' That doesn't matter. It will show him that I did 
 not mean him to come.' 
 
 At hearing the very merciful natitre of the punish- 
 ment, Picotee sighed without replying ; and Ethelberta 
 despatched her note. 
 
 The hour of appointment drew near, and Ethelberta 
 showed S3niiptoms of unrest. Six o'clock struck and 
 passed. She walked here and there for notliino-, and 
 it was plain that a dread was filling her : her letter 
 might accidentally have had, in addition to the moral 
 effect which she had intended, the practical effect which 
 she did not intend, by arriving before, instead of after, 
 his purposed visit to her, thereby stopping him in 
 spite of all her care. 
 
 ' How long are letters going to Bloomsbury ? ' she 
 said, suddenly. 
 
 'Two hours, Joey tells me,' replied Picotee, who 
 had already enquired on her own private account. 
 
 ' There ! ' exclaimed Ethelberta, petulantly. ' How 
 I dishke a man to misrepresent things ! He said there 
 was not time for a reply ! ' 
 
240 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 'Perhaps lie didn't know,' said Picotee, in angel 
 tones ; ' and so it happens all right, and he has got it, 
 and he will not come after all.' 
 
 They waited and waited, but Christopher did not 
 appear that night ; the true case being that his declar- 
 ation about insufficient time for a reply was merely an 
 ingenious suggestion to her not to be so cruel as to for- 
 bid him. He was far from suspecting when the letter 
 of denial did reach him — about an hour before the 
 time of appointment — that it was sent by a refinement 
 of art, of which the real intention was futility, and that 
 but for his own mis-statement it would have been care- 
 fully delayed. 
 
 The next day another letter came from the 
 musician, decidedly short and to the point. The irate 
 lover stated that he would not be made a fool of any 
 longer : under any circumstances he meant to come 
 that self-same afternoon, and should decidedly expect 
 her to see him. 
 
 ' I will not see him ! ' said Ethelberta. ' Why did 
 he not call last night ? ' 
 
 ' Because you told him not to,' said Picotee. 
 
 ' Good gracious, as if a Avoman's words are to be 
 translated as literally as Homer ! Surely he is aware 
 that more often than not '' Xo " is said to a man's im- 
 portunities because it is traditionally the correct modest 
 reply, and for nothing else in the world. If all men 
 took words as superficially as he does, we should die of 
 decorum in shoals.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 241 
 
 * Ah, Berta ! how could you write a letter that you 
 did not mean should be obeyed ? ' 
 
 ' I did in a measure mean it, although I could have 
 shown Christian forgiveness if it had not been. Never 
 mind ; I will not see him. I'll plague my heart for the 
 credit of my sex.' 
 
 To ensure the fulfilment of this resolve, Ethelberta 
 determined to give way to a headache that she was 
 beginning to be aw^are of, go to her room, disorganise 
 her dress, and ruin her hair by lying down ; so putting 
 it out of her power to descend and meet Christopher 
 on any momentary impulse. 
 
 Picotee sat in the room with her, reading, or pre- 
 tending to read, and Ethelberta pretended to sleep. 
 Christopher's knock came up the stairs, and with it the 
 end of the farce. 
 
 ' I'll tell you A\ hat,' said Ethelberta, in the prompt 
 and broadly-aw^ake tone of one who had been concen- 
 trated on the expectation of that sound for a length of 
 time, ' it was a mistake in me to do this ! Joey will be 
 sure to make a muddle of it.' 
 
 Joey Avas heard coming up the stairs. Picotee 
 opened the door, and said, with an anxiety transcend- 
 ing Ethelberta's, 'Well?' 
 
 ' Oh, will you tell Mrs. Petherwin that Mr. Julian 
 says he'll wait.' 
 
 ' You were not to ask him to wait,' said Ethelberta 
 within. 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' I know that,' said Joey, ' and I didn't. He's doing 
 that out of his own head.' 
 
 ' Then let Mr. Juhan wait, by all means,' said 
 Ethelberta. ' Allow him to wait if he likes, but tell 
 him it is uncertain if I shall be able to come down.' 
 
 Joey then retired, and the two sisters remained in 
 silence. 
 
 ' I wonder if he's gone,' Ethelberta said at the end 
 of a long time. 
 
 ' I thought you were asleep,' said Picotee. ' Shall 
 we ask Joey ? I have not heard the door close.' 
 
 Joey was summoned, and after a leisurely ascent, 
 interspersed by various gymnastic performances over 
 the handrail here and there, appeared again. 
 
 ' He's there jest the same : he don't seem to be in 
 no hurry at all,' said Joey. 
 
 ' What is he doing ? ' enquired Picotee, solicitously. 
 
 ' Oh, only looking at his watch sometimes, and 
 humming tunes, and playing rat-a-tat-tat upon the table. 
 He says he don't mind waiting a bit.' 
 
 ' You must have made a mistake in the message,' 
 said Ethelberta within. 
 
 ' Well, no. I am correct as a jineral thing. I jest 
 said perhaps you would be engaged all the evening, 
 and perhaps you wouldn't.' 
 
 When Joey had again retired, and they had waited 
 another ten minutes, Ethelberta said, ' Picotee, do you 
 go down and speak a few words to him. I am deter- 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 243 
 
 mined he shall not see me. You know him a little : 
 you remember when he came to the Lodge ? ' 
 
 ' What must I say to him ? ' 
 
 Ethelberta paused before replying. ' Try to find 
 out if — if he is much grieved at not seeing me, and 
 say — give him to understand that I will forgive him, 
 Picotee.' 
 
 ' Very well.' 
 
 ' And Picotee ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 'If he says he must see me — I think I will get up. 
 But only if he says must : you remember that.' 
 
 Picotee departed on her errand. She paused on 
 the staircase trembling, and thinking between the 
 thrills how very far would have been the conduct of 
 her poor slighted self from proud recalcitration had 
 Mr. Julian's gentle request been addressed to her 
 instead of to Ethelberta ; and she went some way in 
 the painful discovery of how much more tantalising it 
 was to watch an envied situation that was held by 
 another than to be out of sight of it altogether. Here 
 was Christopher waiting to bestow love, and Ethelberta 
 not going down to receive it : a commodity unequalled 
 in value by any other in the whole wide world was 
 being wantonly wasted within that very house. If she 
 could only have stood to-night as the beloved Ethel- 
 berta, and not as the despised Picotee, how different 
 would l)e this going down ! Thus she went along, red 
 
 R 2 
 
244 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 and pale moving in her cheeks as in the Northern 
 Lights at their strongest time. 
 
 Meanwhile Christopher had sat waiting minute by 
 minute till the evening shades grew browner, and the 
 fire sank low. Joey, finding himself not particularly 
 wanted upon the premises after the second enquiry, 
 had slipped out to witness a nigger performance round 
 the corner, and Juhan began to think himself forgotten 
 by all the household. The perception gradually cooled 
 his emotions, and enabled him to hold his hat quite 
 steadily. 
 
 When Picotee gently thrust open the door she was 
 surprised to find the room in darkness, the fire gone 
 completely out, and the form of Christopher only visible 
 by a faint patch of hght, which, coming from a lamp 
 on the opposite side of the way and falling upon the 
 mirror, was thrown as a pale nebulosity upon his 
 shoulder. Picotee Avas too flurried at sight of the 
 famihar outhne to know what to do, and, instead of 
 <Toin(^ or calling for a light, she mechanically advanced 
 into the room. Christopher did not turn or move in 
 any way, and then she perceived that he had begun to 
 doze in his chair. 
 
 Instantly, with the precipitancy of the timorous 
 she said, ' Mr. Julian ! ' and touched him on the 
 shoulder — murmuring then, ' Oh, I beg pardon, I — I 
 will get a light.' 
 
 Christopher's consciousness returned, and his first 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 245 
 
 act, before rising, was to exclaim, in a confused man- 
 ner, ' Ah — you have come — thank you, Berta ! ' then 
 impulsively to seize her hand, as it hung beside his 
 head, and kiss it warmly. He stood up, still holding 
 her fingers. 
 
 Picotee gasped out something, but was completely 
 deprived of articulate utterance, and in another mo- 
 ment, being unable to control herself at this sort of 
 first meeting with the man she had gone through fire 
 and water to be near, and more particularly by the 
 overpowering kiss upon her hand, not meant for hers 
 at all, burst into hysterical sobbing. Julian, in his 
 inability to imagine so much emotion — or at least the 
 exhibition of it — in Ethelberta, gently drew Picotee 
 further forward by the hand he held, and utilised the 
 solitary spot of light from the mirror by making it fall 
 upon her face. Eecognising the childish features, he 
 at once, with an exclamation, dropped her hand and 
 started back. Being in point of fact a complete bundle 
 of nerves and nothing else, his thin figure shook like a 
 harp-string in painful excitement at a contretemps which 
 would scarcely have quickened the pulse of an ordinary 
 man. 
 
 Poor Picotee, feeling herself in the wind of a civil 
 
 d , started back also, sobbing more than ever. It 
 
 was a little too much that the first result of his dis- 
 covery of the mistake should be absolute repulse. She 
 leant against the mantelpiece, when Julian, much be- 
 
246 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 wildered at her superfluity of emotion, assisted her to a 
 seat iu sheer humanity. But Christopher was by no 
 means pleased when he again thought round the circle 
 of circumstances. 
 
 ' How could you allow such an absurd thing to 
 happen ? ' he said, in a stern, though trembhng voice. 
 ' You knew I might mistake. I had no idea you were 
 in the house : I thought you were miles away, at Sand- 
 bourne or somewhere ! But I see : it is just done for 
 a joke, ha-ha ! ' 
 
 This made Picotee rather worse still. ' 0-o-o-oh ! * 
 she replied, in the tone of pouring from a bottle. 
 ' What shall I do-o-o-o ! It is — not done for a — joke 
 at all-1-1-1 ! ' 
 
 ' Not done for a joke ? Then never mind — don't 
 cry, Picotee. What was it done for, I wonder ? ' 
 
 Picotee, mistaking the purport of his enquiry, 
 imagined him to refer to her arrival in the house, 
 quite forgetting, in her guilty sense of having come on 
 his account, that he would have no right or thought of 
 asking questions about a natural visit to a sister, and 
 she said : ' When you — went away from — Sandbourne, 
 I — I — I didn't know what to do, and then I ran away, 
 and came here, and then Ethelberta — was angry with 
 me ; but she says I may stay ; but she doesn't know — 
 that I know you, and how we used to meet along the 
 road every morning — and I am afraid to tell her — Oh, 
 what shall I do ! ' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 24.7 
 
 'Never mind it,' said Cliristoplier, ii sense of the 
 true state of her case dawning upon him with unpleasant 
 distinctness, and bringing some irritation at his awkward 
 position ; though it was impossible to be long angry 
 with a girl who had not reasoning foresiglit enough to 
 perceive that doubtful pleasure and certain pain must 
 be the result of any meeting wliilst hearts were at cross 
 purposes in this way. 
 
 'Where is your sister? ' he asked. 
 
 ' She wouldn't come down, unless she must,' said 
 Picotee. ' You have vexed her, and she has a head- 
 ache besides that, and I came instead.' 
 
 ' So that I mightn't be wasted altogether. Well, 
 it's a strange business between the three of us. I have 
 heard of one-sided love, and reciprocal love, and all 
 sorts, but this is my first experience of a concatenated 
 aflection. You follow me, I follow Ethelberta, and 
 she follows — Heaven knows who ! ' 
 
 ' Mr. Ladywell ! ' said the mortified Picotee. 
 
 ' Good Lord, if I didn't think so ! ' said Christopher, 
 feehng to the soles of his feet like a man in a legitimate 
 drama. 
 
 ' No, no, no ! ' said the friglitened girl, hastily. ' I 
 am not sure it is Mr. Ladywell. That's altogether a 
 mistake of mine I ' 
 
 ' Ah, yes, you want to screen her,' said Christopher, 
 with a withering smile at the spot of light. ' Very 
 sisterly, doubtless ; but none of that will do for me. I 
 
248 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 am too old a bird by far — by very for ! Now are you 
 sure she does not love Lady well ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ! ' 
 
 ' Well, perhaps I blame lier wrongly. She may 
 have some little faith in her — a woman has, here 
 and there. How do you know she does not love 
 Lady well ? ' 
 
 ' Because she would prefer Mr. Neigh to him, any 
 day.' 
 
 'Ha!' 
 
 ' No, no — you mistake, sir — she doesn't love either 
 at all — Ethelberta doesn't. I meant that she cannot 
 love Mr. Ladywell because he stands lower in her 
 opinion than Mr. Neigh, and him she certainly does 
 not care for. She only loves you. If you only knew 
 how true she is you wouldn't be so suspicious about 
 her, and I wish I had not come here — yes, I do ! ' 
 
 ' I cannot tell what to think of it. Perhaps I don't 
 know much of this world after all, or what girls will 
 do. But you don't excuse her to me, Picotee.' 
 
 Before this time Picotee had been simulating haste 
 in getting a light ; but in her dread of appearing visibly 
 to Christopher's eyes, and showing him the precise 
 condition of her tear-stained face, she put it off moment 
 after moment, and stirred the fire, in hope that the 
 faint illumination thus produced would be sufficient 
 to save her from the charge of stupid conduct as enter- 
 tainer. 
 
Tin: JIAND OF ETHELBERTA. 249 
 
 Fluttering about on the horns of this dilemma, she 
 was greatly relieved when Christopher, who read her 
 difficulty, and the general painfulness of the situation, 
 said that since Ethelberta was really suffering from a 
 headache he would not wish to disturb her till to- 
 morrow, and went off downstairs and into the street 
 without further ceremony. 
 
 Meanwhile other things had transpired upstairs. 
 No sooner had Picotee left her sister's room, than 
 Ethelberta thought it would after all have been much 
 better if she had gone down herself to speak to this 
 admirably persistent lover. Was she not drifting some- 
 what into the character of coquette, even if her ground 
 of offence — a word of Christopher's about somebody 
 else's mean parentage, which was spoken in utter forget- 
 fulness of her own position, but had wounded her to 
 the quick nevertheless — was to some extent a tenable 
 one ? She knew what facilities in suffering Christopher 
 always showed ; how a touch to other people was a 
 blow to him, a blow to them his deep wound, although 
 he took such pains to look stolid and unconcerned 
 under those inflictions, and tried to smile as if he had 
 no feelings whatever. It would be more generous to 
 go down to him, and be kind. She jumped up with 
 that alertness which comes so spontaneously at those 
 sweet bright times when desire and duty run hand in 
 hand. 
 
 She hastily set her hair and dress in order — not 
 
250 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 such matchless order as she could have wished them 
 to be in, but time was precious — and descended the 
 stairs. When on the point of pushing open the draw- 
 ing-room door, which wanted about an inch of being 
 closed, she was astounded to discover that the room 
 was in total darkness, and still more to hear Picotee 
 sobbing inside. To retreat again was the only action 
 she was capable of at that moment : the clash between 
 this picture and the anticipated scene of Picotee and 
 Christopher sitting in frigid propriety at opposite sides 
 of a well-lighted room was too great. She flitted up- 
 stairs again with the least possible rustle, and flung 
 herself down on the couch as before, pantmg with 
 excitement at the new knowledge that had come to 
 her. 
 
 There was only one possible construction to be put 
 upon this in Ethelberta's rapid mind, and that approxi- 
 mated to the true one. She had known for some time 
 that Picotee once had a lover, or something akin to it, 
 and that he had disappointed her in a way which had 
 never been told. No stranger, save in the capacity of 
 the one beloved, could wound a woman sufficiently to 
 make her weep, and it followed that Christopher was 
 the man of Picotee's choice. As Ethelberta recalled 
 the conversations, conclusion after conclusion came hke 
 pulsations in an aching head. ' Oh, how did it happen, 
 and who is to blame ? ' she exclaimed. ' I cannot doubt 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 251 
 
 his faith, and I cannot doubt hers ; and yet how can I 
 keep doubting them both ? ' 
 
 It ^vas characteristic of Ethelberta's jealous motherly 
 guard over her young sisters that, amid these contend- 
 ing enquiries, her foremost feeling was less one of hope 
 for her own love than of championship for Picotee's. 
 
252 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 ethelberta's house — {con tinned). 
 
 PicOTEE was heard on the stairs : Ethelberta covered 
 her face. 
 
 ' Is he waiting ? ' she said faintly, on finding that 
 Picotee did not begin to speak. 
 
 ' No ; he is gone,' said Picotee. 
 
 ' Ah, why is that ? ' came quickly from under the 
 handkerchief. ' He has forgotten me — that's what 
 it is ! ' 
 
 ' Oh no, he has not ! ' said Picotee just as bitterly. 
 
 Ethelberta had far too much heroism to let much 
 in this strain escape her, though her sister was prepared 
 to go any lengths in the same. ' I suppose,' continued 
 Ethelberta, in the quiet way of one who had only a 
 headache the matter with her, ' that he remembered you 
 after the meeting at Anglebury ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, he remembered me.' 
 
 'Did you tell me you had seen him before that 
 time ? ' 
 
 ' I had seen him at Sandbourne. I don't think I 
 told you.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 253 
 
 ' At whose house did you meet him ? ' 
 
 ' At nobody's. I only saw him sometimes,' rephed 
 Pico tee, in great distress. 
 
 Ethelberta, though of all women most miserable, 
 was brimming with compassion for the throbbing girl 
 so nearly related to lier, in whom she continually saw 
 her own weak points without the counterpoise of her 
 strong ones. But it was necessary to repress herself 
 awhile : the intended ways of her life were blocked and 
 broken up by tliis jar of interests, and she wanted time 
 to ])onder new plans. ' Picotee, I would rather be 
 alone now, if you don't mind,' she said. ' You need 
 not leave me any light ; it makes my eyes ache, I 
 think.' 
 
 Picotee left the room. But Ethelberta had not long 
 been alone and in darkness when somebody gently 
 opened the door, and entered without a candle. 
 
 ' Berta,' said the soft voice of Picotee again, ' may 
 I come in ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' said Ethelberta. ' Has everything gone 
 Tioht with the house this eveninf]^ ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; and Gwendoline went out just now to buy a 
 few things, and she is going to call round upon father 
 when he has got his dinner cleared away.' 
 
 'I hope she will not stay and talk to the other 
 servants. Some day she will let drop something or 
 other before father can stop her.' 
 
 ' Oh, Berta ! ' said Picotee, close beside her. She 
 
254 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 Wcas kneeling in front of the couch, and now flinging 
 her arm across Ethelberta's shoulder and shaking 
 violently, she pressed her forehead against her sister's 
 temple, and breathed out upon her cheek : 
 
 ' I came in again to tell you something which I 
 ought to have told you just now, and I have come to 
 say it at once because I am afraid I shan't be able to 
 to-morrow. Mr. Julian was the young man I spoke to 
 you of a long time ago, and I should have told you all 
 about him, but you said he was your young man too, 
 and — and I didn't know what to do then, because I 
 thought it was wrong in me to love your young man ; 
 and Berta, he didn't mean me to love him at all,' but I 
 did it myself, though I did not want to do it, either ; 
 it would come to me ! And I didn't know he belonged 
 to you when I began it, or I would not have let him 
 meet me at all ; no I wouldn't ! ' 
 
 ' Meet you ? You don't mean to say he used to 
 meet you ? ' whispered Ethelberta. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Picotee ; ' but he could not help it. 
 We used to meet on the road, and there was no other 
 road unless I had gone ever so far round. But it is 
 worse than that, Berta! That was why I couldn't 
 bide in Sandbourne, and, and ran away to you up 
 here ; it was not because I ^vanted to see you, Berta, 
 but because I — I wanted ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, I know,' said Ethelberta hurriedly. 
 
 ' And then when I went downstairs he mistook 
 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 255 
 
 me for you for a moment, and that caused — a confu- 
 sion ! ' 
 
 ' Oh well, it does not much matter/ said Ethelberta, 
 kissing Picotee soothingly. ' You ought not of course 
 to have come to London in such a manner ; but, since 
 you have come, we will make the best of it. Perhaps 
 it may end happily for you and for him. Who 
 knows ? ' 
 
 ' Then don't you want him, Berta P ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ; not at all ! ' 
 
 ' What — and don't you really want him, Berta ? ' 
 repeated Picotee, starting up. 
 
 ' I would much rather he paid his addresses to 
 you. He is not the sort of man I should wish to — 
 think it best to marry, even if I were to marry, which 
 I have no intention of doing at present. He calls to 
 see me because we are old friends, but his calls do not 
 mean anything more than that he takes an interest in 
 me. It is not at all likely that I shall see him again ! 
 and I certainly never shall see him unless you are 
 present.' 
 
 ' That will be very nice.' 
 
 ' Yes. And you will be always distant towards 
 him, and go to leave the room when he comes, when I 
 will call you back ; but suppose we continue this 
 to-morrow ? I can tell you better then what to do.' 
 
 When Picotee had left her the second time, Ethel- 
 berta turned over upon her breast and shook in convul- 
 
256 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 sive sobs Avhich had little relationship with tears. This 
 abandonment ended as suddenly as it had begun — not 
 lastincr more than a minute and lialf altO£^etlier — and 
 she got up in an unconsidered and unusual impulse to 
 seek relief from the stinging sarcasm of this event — the 
 unhappy love of Picotee — by mentioning something 
 of it to another mem.ber of the family, her eldest sister 
 Gwendoline, who w^as a woman full of sympathy. 
 
 Ethelberta descended to the kitchen, it being now 
 about ten o'clock. The room was empty, Gwendoline 
 not having yet returned, and Corneha being busy about 
 her own afiairs upstairs. The French family had gone 
 to the theatre, and the house on that account was very 
 quiet to-night. Ethelberta sat down in the dismal 
 place without turning up the gas, and in a few minutes 
 admitted Gwendohne. 
 
 The round-faced country cook floundered in, un- 
 tying her bonnet as she came, laying it down on a 
 chair, and talking at the same time. ' Such a place as 
 this London is, to be sure ! ' she exclaimed, turning on 
 the gas till it whistled. ' I wish I was down in Wessex 
 again. Lord-a-mercy, Berta, I didn't see it was you ! 
 I thought it was Cornelia. As I was saying, I thought 
 that, after biding in this underground cellar all the 
 week, making up messes for them French folk and 
 never pleasing 'em, and never shall, because I don't 
 understand that line, I thought I would go out and see 
 father, you know.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETIIELBICRTA. 257 
 
 ' Is he very well ? ' said Ethelberta. 
 
 'Yes; and lie is going to call round when he has 
 time. Well, as I was a-coming home-along I thought, 
 " Please the Lord I'll l:iave some chippols for supper just 
 for a plain trate," and I went round to the late green- 
 grocer's for 'em ; and do you know they sweared me 
 down that they hadn't got such things as chippols in 
 the shop, and had never heard of 'em in their lives. 
 At last I said, " Why, how can you tell me such a 
 brazen story ? — here they be, heaps of 'em ! " It made 
 me so vexed that I came away there and then, and 
 wouldn't have one — no, not at a gift.' 
 
 ' They call them young onions here,' said Ethelberta 
 quietly ; ' you must always remember that. But, 
 Gwendoline, I wanted ' 
 
 Ethelberta felt sick at heart, and stopped. She 
 had come down on the wings of an impulse to unfold 
 her trouble about Picotee to her hard-headed and 
 much older sister, less for advice than to get some 
 heart-ease by interchange of words ; but alas, she could 
 ])roceed no further. The wretched homeliness of Gwen- 
 doline's mind seemed at this particular juncture to be 
 absolutely intolerable, and Ethelberta was suddenly 
 convinced that to involve Gwendoline in any such dis- 
 cussion would simply be increasing her own burden, 
 and adding worse confusion to her sister's already con- 
 fused existence. 
 
 VOL. I. S 
 
258 THE HAND of ethelberta. 
 
 ' What were you going to say ? ' said the honest 
 and unsuspecting Gwendohne. 
 
 ' I will put it off until to-morrow,' Ethelberta mur- 
 mured gloomily ; ' I have a bad headache, and I am 
 afraid I cannot stay with you after all/ 
 
 As she ascended the stairs, Ethelberta ached with 
 an added pain not much less than the primary one 
 which had brought her down. It was that old sense 
 of disloyalty to her class and kin by feeling as she felt 
 now which caused the pain, and there was no escaping 
 it. Gwendoline would have gone to the ends of the 
 earth for her : she could not confide a thought to 
 Gwendoline ! 
 
 ' If she only knew of that unworthy feeling of mine, 
 how she would grieve,' said Ethelberta miserably. 
 
 She next went up to the servants' bedrooms, and 
 to where Corneha slept. On Ethelberta's entry Cor- 
 nelia looked up from a perfect wonder of a bonnet, 
 which she held in her hands. At sight of Ethelberta 
 the look of keen interest in her work changed to one 
 of gaiety. 
 
 ' I am so glad — I was just coming down,' Cornelia 
 said in a whisper ; whenever they spoke as relations in 
 this house it was in whispers. ' Now, how do you 
 think this bonnet will do ? May I come down, and 
 see how I look in your big glass ? ' She clapped the 
 bonnet upon her head. ' Won't it do beautiful for 
 Sunday afternoon ? ' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 259 
 
 ' It looks very attractive, as far as I can see by this 
 light,' said Ethelberta. ' But is it not rather too bril- 
 liant in colour — blue and red together, like that? 
 Eemember, as I often tell you, people in town never 
 wear such bright contrasts as they do in the country.' 
 
 ' 0, Berta ! ' said Cornelia, in a deprecating tone ; 
 ' don't object. If there's one thing I do glory in it is 
 a nice flare-up about my head o' Sundays — of course if 
 the family's not in mourning, I mean.' But, seeing 
 that Ethelberta did not smile, she turned the subject, 
 and added docilely : ' Did you come up for me to do 
 anything ? I will put off finishing my bonnet if I am 
 wanted.' 
 
 ' I was going to talk to you about family matters, 
 and Pictoee,' said Ethelberta. ' But, as you are busy, 
 and I have a headache, I will put it off till to-morrow.' 
 
 Cornelia seemed decidedly relieved, for family 
 matters were far from attractive at the best of tunes ; 
 and Ethejberta went down to the next floor, and 
 entered her mother's room. 
 
 After a short conversation Mrs. Chickerel said, 
 ' You say you want to ask me something ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; but nothing of importance, mother. I was 
 thinking about Picotee, and what would be the best 
 thing to do ' 
 
 ' Ah, well you may, Berta. I am so uneasy about 
 this hfe you have led us into, and full of fear that your 
 plans may break down; if they do, whatever will 
 
260 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 become of us ! I know you are doing your best ; but 
 I cannot help tliinking that the coming to London and 
 living with you was wild and rash, and not well weighed 
 afore we set about it. You should have counted the 
 cost first, and not advised it. If you break down, and 
 we are all discovered living so queer and unnatural, 
 right in the heart of the aristocracy, we should be the 
 laughing-stock of the countiy : it ^vould kill me, and 
 ruin us all — utterly rain us ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, mother, I know all that so w^ell ! ' exclaimed 
 Ethelberta, tears of anguish filling her eyes. ' Don't 
 depress me more than I depress myself by such fears, 
 or you will bring about the very thing we strive to 
 avoid ! My only chance is in keeping in good spirits ; 
 and why don't you try to help me a little by taking 
 a brighter view of things ? ' 
 
 ' I know I oufjht to, my dear f;^irl, but I cannot. I 
 do so w^ish that I had never let you tempt me and the 
 children aw^ay from the Lodge. I cannot think why I 
 alloAved myself to be so persuaded — cannot think ! 
 You are not to blame — it is I. I am much older than 
 you, and ought to have known better than listen to 
 such a scheme. This undertaking seems too big — the 
 bills frighten me. I have never been used to such wild 
 adventure, and I can't sleep at night for fear that your 
 tale-telling will go wTong, and w^e shall all be exposed 
 and shamed. A story-teller seems such an impossible 
 castle-in- the- air sort of a trade for getting a living by 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBEKTA. 261 
 
 — I cannot think how ever you came to dream of such 
 an unheard-of thing.' 
 
 ' But it is not a castle in the air, and it does get a 
 living ! ' said Ethelberta, her hp quivering. 
 
 ' Well, yes, while it is just a new thing ; but I am 
 afraid it cannot last — that's what I fear. People will 
 find you out as one of a family of servants, and their 
 pride will be stung at having gone to hear your ro- 
 mancing ; then they will go no more, and what will 
 happen to us and the poor little ones ? ' 
 
 ' We must all scatter ao-ain ! ' 
 
 ' If we could get as we were once, I wouldn't mind 
 that. But w^e shall have lost our character as simple 
 country folk who know nothing, which are the only 
 class of poor people that squires will give any help to ; 
 and I much doubt if the girls would get places after 
 such a discovery — it would be so awkward and un- 
 heard-of.' 
 
 ' Well, all I can say is,' replied Ethelberta, ' that I 
 will do my best. All that I have is theirs and yours 
 as much as mine, and these arrangements are simply 
 on their account. I don't like my relations being my 
 servants ; but if they did not work for me, they would 
 have to work for others, and my service is much lighter 
 and pleasanter than any other lady's would be for 
 them, so the advantages are worth the risk. If I stood 
 alone I would go and hide my head in any hole, and 
 care no more about the world and its ways. I wish I 
 
262 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 was well out of it, and at the bottom of a quiet grave 
 — anybody might have the world for me then ! But 
 don't let me disturb you longer ; it is getting late.' 
 
 Ethelberta then wished her motlier good-night, 
 and went away. To attempt confidences on such an 
 ethereal matter as love was now absurd ; her hermit 
 spirit was doomed to dwell apart as usual ; and she 
 applied herself to deep thinking without aid and alone. 
 Not only was there Picotee's misery to disperse ; it 
 became imperative to consider how best to overpass a 
 more general catastrophe. 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 ethelberta's house {continued) — the British 
 
 MUSEUM. 
 
 Mrs. Chickerel, in deploring the risks of their present 
 speculative mode of life, was far from imagining that 
 signs of the foul future so much dreaded were actually 
 apparent to Ethelberta at the time the lament was 
 spoken. Hence the daughter's uncommon sensitiveness 
 to prophecy. It was as if a dead-reckoner poring over 
 his chart should remark that breakers were possible 
 ahead to one who already beheld them. 
 
 That her story-telling would prove so attractive 
 Ethelberta had not ventured to expect for a moment 
 when she first originated the undertaking ; that having 
 once proved attractive there should be any falling-off 
 until such time liad elapsed as would enable her to 
 harvest some solid fruit by her labour was equally a 
 surprise. Future expectations are often based without 
 hesitation upon one happy accident, when the only 
 similar condition remaining to subsequent sets of (Cir- 
 cumstances is that the same person forms the centre of 
 them. Her situation was so peculiar, and so unlike 
 
264 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 that of most public people, tliat there was hardly an 
 argument explaining tliis triumphant opening which 
 could be used in a fair calculation as to its close ; unless, 
 indeed, more strategy were employed in the conduct of 
 the campaign than Ethelberta seemed to show at 
 present. 
 
 There was no denying that she commanded less 
 attention than at first : the audience had lessened, and, 
 judging by appearances, might soon be expected to be 
 decidedly thin. In excessive lowness of spirit, Ethel- 
 berta translated these signs with the bias that a linger- 
 ing echo of her mother's dismal w^ords naturally in- 
 duced, reading them as conclusive evidence that her 
 adventure had been chimerical in its birth. Yet it was 
 very far less conclusive than she supposed. Public 
 interest might without doubt have been renewed after 
 a due interval, some of the falling-ofF being only an 
 accident of the season. Her novelties had been hailed 
 with pleasure the rather that their freshness tickled 
 than that their intrinsic merit was appreciated ; and, 
 like many inexperienced dispensers of a unique charm, 
 Ethelberta, by bestowing too liberally and too fre- 
 quently, was destroying the very element upon which 
 its popularity depended. Her entertainment had been 
 good in its conception, and partly good in its execution ; 
 yet her success had but little to do with that goodness. 
 Indeed, Avhat might be called its badness in a histrionic 
 sense — that is, her look sometimes of being out of place. 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 265 
 
 tlie sight of a beautiful woman on a platform, revealing 
 tender airs of domesticity which showed her to belong 
 by character to a quiet drawing-room — had been pri- 
 marily an attractive feature. But alas, custom was 
 staling this by improving her up to the mark of an utter 
 impersonator, thereby eradicating the pretty abash- 
 ments of a poetess out of her sphere ; and more than 
 one well-wdsher who observed Ethelberta from afar 
 feared that it miglit some day come to be said of her 
 that she had 
 
 Enfeoffed herself to popularity : 
 
 That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, 
 
 They surfeited with honey, and began 
 
 To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little 
 
 More than a little is by much too much. 
 
 But this in its extremity was not quite yet. 
 
 We discover her one day, a httle after this time, 
 sitting before a table strewed with accounts and bills 
 from different tradesmen of the neighbourhood, which 
 she examined with a pale face, collecting their totals 
 on a blank sheet. Picotee came into the room, but 
 Ethelberta took no notice whatever of her. The 
 younger sister, who subsisted on scraps of notice and 
 favour, like a dependent animal, even if these were 
 only an occasional glance of the eye, could not help 
 saying at last, ' Berta, how silent you are. I don't 
 think you know I am in the room.' 
 
266 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' I did not observe you,' said Ethelberta. ' I am 
 very much engaged : these bills have to be paid.' 
 
 ' What, and cannot we pay them ? ' said Picotee, in 
 vague alarm. 
 
 ' Oh yes, I can pay them. The question is, how 
 long shall I be able to do it.' 
 
 ' That is sad ; and we are going on so nicely, too. 
 It is not true that you have really decided to leave ofi' 
 story-telling now the people don't crowd to hear it as 
 they did ? ' 
 
 ' I think I shall leave ofi'.' 
 
 ' And begin again next year ? ' 
 
 ' That is very doubtful.' 
 
 ' I'll tell you what you might do,' said Picotee, her 
 face kindling with a sense of great originality. ' You 
 might travel about to country towns and tell your 
 story splendidly.' 
 
 ' A man in my position might perhaps do it mth 
 impunity; but I could not without losing ground in 
 other domains. A woman may drive to Mayfair from 
 her house in Connaught Crescent, and speak from a 
 platform there, and be supposed to do it as an original 
 way of amusing herself; but when it comes to starring 
 in the provinces she establishes herself as a woman of 
 a different breed and habit. I wish I were a man ! I 
 would give up this house, advertise it to be let furnished, 
 and sally forth with confidence. But I am driven to 
 think of other ways to manage than that.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 267 
 
 Picotee fell into a conjectural look, but could not 
 guess. 
 
 ' The way of marriage,' said Ethelbcrta. ' Other- 
 wise perhaps the poetess may live to become what 
 Dryden called himself when he got old and poor — a 
 rent-charge on Providence. . . . Yes, I must try that 
 way,' slie continued, with a sarcasm towards people out 
 of hearing. 'I must buy a "Peerage" for one thing, 
 and a "Baronetage," and a "House of Commons," and a 
 " Landed Gentry," and learn what people are about me. 
 I must go to Doctors' Commons and read up wills of the 
 parents of any likely gudgeons I may know. I must 
 get a Herald to invent an escutcheon of my family, and 
 throw a genealogical tree into the bargain in consider- 
 ation of my taking a few second-hand heirlooms of a 
 pawnbroking friend of his. I must get up sham ances- 
 tors, and find out some notorious name to start my 
 pedigree from. It does not matter what his character 
 was : either villain or martyr will do, provided that he 
 lived fiye hundred years ago. It would be considered 
 far more creditable to make good my descent from 
 Satan in the age when he went to and fro on the earth 
 than from a ministering angel under Victoria.' 
 
 ' But, Berta, you are not going to marry any stranger 
 w^ho may turn up ? ' said Picotee, who had creeping 
 sensations of dread wlien Ethelberta talked like this. 
 
 ' I had no such intention. But, having once put my 
 hand to the plougli, how shall I turn back ? ' 
 
268 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 ' You might marry !Mr. Lady well,' said Picotee, wlio 
 preferred a return to tlie concrete. 
 
 ' Yes, marry him villanously ; in cold blood, with- 
 out a moment to prejDare himself.' 
 
 ' Ah, you won't ! ' 
 
 ' I am not so sure about that. I have brought 
 mother and the children to town against her judgment 
 and against my father's ; they gave way to my opinion 
 as to one who from superior education has larger 
 knowledge of the world than they. I must prove my 
 promises, even if Heaven should fall upon me for it, or 
 what a miserable future will theirs be ! We must not 
 be poor in London. Poverty in the country is a sad- 
 ness, but poverty in town is a horror. There is some- 
 thing not Vv'ithout grandeur in the thought of starvation 
 on an open mountain or in a wide wood, and your bones 
 lying there to bleach in the pure sun and rain ; but a 
 back garret in Clare Market, and the other star vers in 
 the room insisting on keeping the window shut — any- 
 thing to deliver us from that ! ' 
 
 ' How gloomy you can be, Berta. It will never be 
 so dreadful. Why, I can take in plain sewing, and you 
 can do translations, and mother can knit stockings, and 
 so on. How much longer will this house be yours ? ' 
 
 ' Two years. If I keep it longer than that I shall 
 have to pay rent at the rate of three hundred a year. 
 The Petlierwin estate provides me Avith it till then, 
 which will be the end of Lady Petherwin's term.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 269 
 
 ' I see it ; and you ought to marry before the house 
 is gone, if you mean to marry high,' murmured Picotee 
 in an inadequate voice, as one in a world so tragic that 
 any hope of her assisting therein was out of the question. 
 
 It was not long after this exposition of the family 
 affairs that Christopher called upon them ; but Picotee 
 was not present, having gone to think of superhuman 
 work on the spur of Ethelberta's awakening talk. 
 There was something new in the way in which Ethel- 
 berta received the announcement of his name ; passion 
 had to do with it, so had circumspection ; the latter 
 most, for the first time since their re-union. 
 
 ' I am going to leave this pai t of England,' said 
 Christopher, after a few gentle preliminaries. ' I was 
 one of the applicants for the post of assistant organist 
 at Melchester Cathedral when it became vacant, and I 
 find I am likely to be chosen, through the interest of 
 one of my father's friends.' 
 
 ' I congratulate you.' 
 
 ' No, Ethelbcrta, it is not worth tliat. I did not 
 originally mean to follow this course at all ; but events 
 seemed to point to it in the absence of a better.' 
 
 ' I too am compelled to follow a course I did not 
 originally mean to take.' After saying no more for a 
 few moments, she added, in a tone of sudilen openness, 
 a richer tincture creepmg up her cheek, ' I want to put 
 a question to you boldly — not exactly a question — a 
 thought. Have you considered whether the relations 
 
270 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 between us wLicli have lately prevailed are —are the 
 best for you — and for me ? ' 
 
 ' I know what you mean,' said Christopher, hastily 
 anticipating all that she might be going to say ; ' and I 
 am glad you have given me the opportunity of speaking 
 upon that subject. It has been very good and con- 
 siderate in you to allow me to share your society so 
 frequently as you have done since I have been in toAvn, 
 and to think of you as an object to exist for and strive 
 for. But I ought to have remembered that, since you 
 have nobody at your side to look after your interests, 
 it behoved me to be doubly careful. In short, Ethel- 
 berta, I am not in a position to marry, nor can I discern 
 when I shall be, and I feel it would be an injustice to 
 ask you to be bound in any way to one lower and less 
 talented than you. You cannot, from what you say, 
 think it desirable that the engagement should continue. 
 I have no right to ask you to be my betrothed, without 
 having a near prospect of making you my wife. I 
 don't mind saying this straight out — I have no fear 
 that you will doubt my love ; thank Heaven, you know 
 what that is well enough ! However, as things are, I 
 wish you to know that I cannot conscientiously put in 
 a claun upon your attention.' 
 
 A second meaning was written in Christopher's look, 
 thouo"h he scarcely uttered it. A woman so delicately 
 poised upon the social globe could not in honour be 
 asked to wait for a lover who was unable to set bounds 
 
THE ITAND OF ETHELBERTA. 271 
 
 to the waiting period. Yet he had privily dreamed of 
 an approach to that position — an unreserved, ideally 
 perfect declaration from Ethelberta that time and prac- 
 tical issues were nothing to her ; that she would stand 
 as fast without material hopes as with them ; that love 
 was to be an end with her henceforth, having utterly 
 ceased to be a means. Therefore this surreptitious 
 hope of his, founded on no reasonable expectation, was 
 hke a guilty thing surprised when Ethelberta answered, 
 with a predominance of judgment over passion still 
 greater than before : 
 
 'It is unspeakably generous in you to put it all 
 before me so nicely, Christopher. I think infinitely 
 more of you for being so unreserved, especially since I 
 too have been thinking much on the indefiniteness of 
 the days to come. We are not numbered among the 
 blest few who can afibrd to trifle with the time. Yet 
 to agree to anything hke a positive parting will be quite 
 unnecessary. You did not mean that, did you ? for it 
 is harsh if you did.' Ethelberta smiled kindly as she 
 said this, as much as to say that she was far from really 
 upbraiding him. ' Let it be only that wc will see each 
 other less. We will bear one another in mind as 
 deeply attached friends if not as definite lovers, and 
 keep up friendly remembrances of a sort Avhich, come 
 what may, will never have to be ended by any painful 
 process termed breaking off. Difierent persons, differ- 
 ent natures ; and it may be that marriage would not be 
 
272 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 the most favourable atmosphere for our old affection to 
 prolong itself in. When do you leave London ? ' 
 
 The disconnected query seemed to be subjoined to 
 disperse the crude effect of what liad gone before. 
 
 ' I hardly know,' murmured Christopher. ' I sup- 
 pose I shall not call here again.' 
 
 Whilst they were silent somebody entered the room 
 softly, and they turned to discover Picotee. 
 ' Come here, Picotee,' said Ethelberta. 
 Picotee came with an abashed bearing to where the 
 other two were standing, and looked down stedfastly. 
 
 ' Mr. Julian is going away,' she continued, with 
 determined firmness. ' He will not see us again for a 
 lono- time.' And Ethelberta added, in a lower tone, 
 thoucrh still ill the unflinching manner of one who 
 had set herself to say a thing, and would say it — ' He 
 is not to be definitely engaged to me any longer. W^e 
 are not thinking of marrying, you know, Picotee. It 
 is best that we should not.' 
 
 ' Perhaps it is,' said Christopher, hurriedly, taking 
 up his hat. ' Let me now wish you good-bye ; and, 
 of course, you will always know where I am and how 
 to find me.' 
 
 It was a tender time. He inclined forward that 
 Ethelberta might give him her hand, which she did ; 
 whereupon their eyes met. Mastered by an impelling 
 instinct she had not reckoned with, Ethelberta pre- 
 sented her cheek. Christopher kissed it faintly. Tears 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 273 
 
 were in Ethelberta*s eyes now, and she was heartfull of 
 many emotions. Placing her arm round Picotee's 
 waist, who had never Hfted her eyes from the carpet, 
 she drew the slight girl forward, and whispered quickly 
 to him — ' Kiss her, too. She is my sister, and I am 
 yours.' 
 
 It seemed all right and natural to their respective 
 moods and the tone of the moment that free old 
 Wessex manners should prevail, and Christopher 
 stooped and dropped upon Picotee's cheek likewise 
 such a farewell kiss as he had imprinted upon Ethel- 
 berta's. 
 
 ' Care for us both equally ! ' said Ethelberta. 
 
 ' I will,' said Christopher, scarcely knowing what 
 he said. 
 
 When he had reached the door of the room, he 
 looked back and saw the two sisters standing as he had 
 left them, and equally tearful. Ethelberta at once 
 said, in a last futile struggle against letting him go 
 altogether, and with thoughts of her sister's heart : 
 
 ' I think that Picotee might correspond with Faith ; 
 don't you, Mr. Julian? They know each other.' 
 
 ' My sister would much like to do so,' said he. 
 
 'And you would like it too, would you not, 
 Picotee ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' she replied. ' And I can tell them all 
 about you.' 
 
 ' Then it shall be so, if Miss Julian will.' She 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 spoke in a settled way, as if something intended had 
 been set in train ; and Christopher having promised 
 for his sister, he went out of the house with a parting 
 smile of misgiving. 
 
 He coidd scarcely beheve as he walked along that 
 those late words, yet hanging in his ears, had really 
 been spoken, that still visible scene enacted. He could 
 not even recollect for a minute or two how the final 
 result had been produced. Did he himself first enter 
 upon the long-looming theme, or did she ? Christopher 
 had been so nervously alive to the urgency of setting 
 before the hard-striving woman a clear outline of him- 
 self, his surroundings and his fears, that he fancied the 
 main impulse to this consummation had been his, not- 
 withstanding that a faint initiative had come from 
 Ethelberta. All had completed itself quickly, uncere- 
 moniously, and easily. Ethelberta had let him go a 
 second time; yet on foregoing mornings and evenings, 
 when contemplating the necessity of some such explan- 
 ation, it had seemed that nothing less than Atlantean 
 force could overpower their mutual rrravitation towards 
 eacli other again. 
 
 On his reaching home Faith was not in the house, 
 and, in tlie restless state which demands something to 
 talk at, the musician went off to find her, well knowing 
 her haunt at this time of the day. He entered the 
 spiked and gilded gateway of the Museum hard by, 
 turned to the wing devoted to sculptures, and descended 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 275 
 
 to a particular basement room, which wos hned with 
 bas-reliefs from Nineveh. The place was cool, silent, 
 and soothing ; it was empty, save of a little figure in 
 black, that was standing with its face to tlie wall in an 
 innermost nook. This spot was Faith's own temple ; 
 here, among these deserted antiques. Faith was always 
 happy. Christopher looked on at her for some time 
 before she noticed him, and dimly perceived how vastly 
 differed her homely suit and unstudied contour — pain- 
 fully unstudied to fastidious eyes — from Ethelberta's 
 well-arranged draperies, even from Picotee's clever bits 
 of ribbon, by which she made herself look pretty out 
 of nothing at all. Yet this negligence was his sister's 
 essence ; without it she w^ould have been a spoilt 
 product. She had no outer world, and her rusty black 
 was as appropriate to Faith's unseen courses as were 
 Ethelberta's correct lights and shades to her more 
 prominent career. 
 
 ' Look, Kit,' said Faith, as soon as she knew who 
 was approaching, 'This is a thing I never learnt 
 before ; this person is really Sennacherib, sitting on his 
 throne ; and these with fluted beards and hair hke 
 plough-furrows, and fingers with no bones in them, are 
 his warriors — really carved at the time, you know. 
 Only just think that this is not imagined of Assyria, 
 but done in Assyrian times by Assyrian hands. Don't 
 you feel as if you were actually in Nineveh ; that as 
 
276 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 Ave now walk between these slabs, so walked Ninevites 
 between tliem once?' 
 
 ' Yes .... Faith, it is all over. Ethelberta and 
 I have parted.' 
 
 ' Indeed. And so my plan is to think of verses in 
 the Bible about Sennacherib and his doings, which 
 resemble these ; this verse, for instance, I remember : 
 " Now in the fourteenth year of King Hezekiah did 
 Sennacherib, King of Assyria, come up against all the 
 fenced cities of Judah and took them. And Hezekiah, 
 King of Judah, sent to the King of Assyria to Lachish," 
 and so on. Well, there it actually is, you see. There's 
 Sennacherib, and there's Lachish. Is it not glorious 
 to think that this is a picture done at the time of those 
 very events ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. We did not quarrel this time, Ethelberta 
 and I. If I may so put it, it is worse than quarrelling. 
 We felt it was no use going on any longer, and so — 
 Come, Faith, hear wdiat I say, or else tell me that you 
 won't hear, and that I may as well save my breath ! ' 
 
 'Yes, I will really listen,' she said, fluttering her 
 eyelids in her concern at having been so abstracted, 
 and excluding Sennacherib there and then from Christo- 
 pher's affairs by the firm settlement of her features to a 
 present-day aspect, and her eyes upon his face. ' You 
 said vou had seen Ethelberta. Y^es, and what did she 
 say?' 
 
THE HAND OP ETHELBERTA. 277 
 
 ' Was there ever anybody so provoking ! Wliy, I 
 have just told you ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; I remember now. You have parted. 
 The subject is too large for me to know all at once 
 what I til ink of it, and you nmst give me time, Kit. 
 Speaking of Ethelberta reminds me of what I have 
 done. I just looked into the Academy this morning — 
 I thought I would surprise you by telling you about it. 
 And what do you think I saw ? Ethelberta — in the 
 picture painted by Mr. Lady well.' 
 
 ' It is never hung ? ' said he, feeling that they were 
 at one as to a topic at last. 
 
 'Yes. And the subject is an Elizabethan knight 
 parting from a lady of the same period — the words 
 explaining the picture being — 
 
 Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing, 
 And like enough thou know'st thy estimate. 
 
 The lady is Ethelberta, to the shade of a hair — her 
 living face ; and the knight is ' 
 
 'Not Lady well?' 
 
 ' I thuik so ; I am not sure.' 
 
 ' No wonder I am dismissed ! And yet she hates 
 him. Well, come along, Faith. Women allow strange 
 liberties in these days.' 
 
278 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE ROYAL ACADEMY THE HAREFIELD ESTATE. 
 
 Ethelberta was a firm believer in tlie kindly effects of 
 artistic education upon the masses. She held that de- 
 filement of mind often arose from ignorance of eye ; 
 and her philanthropy being, by the simple force of her 
 situation, of that sort which hngers in the neighbour- 
 hood of home, she concentrated her efforts in this kind 
 upon Sol and Dan. Accordingly, the Academy exhibi- 
 tion having now just opened, she ordered the brothers 
 to appear in their best clothes at the entrance to 
 Burlington House just after noontide on the Saturday 
 of the first week, this being the only day and hour at 
 which they could attend without ' losing a half,' and 
 therefore it was necessary to put up with the in- 
 convenience of arriving at a crowded and enervating 
 time. 
 
 Wlien Ethelberta was set down in the quadrangle 
 she perceived tjie faithful pair, big as the Zamzummims 
 of old time, standing like sentinels in the particular 
 corner that she had named to them : for Sol and Dan 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 279 
 
 would as soon Iiave attempted petty larceny as broken 
 feitli with their admired lady-sister Ethelberta. They 
 welcomed her with a painfully lavish exhibition of 
 large new gloves, and chests covered with broad trian- 
 gular areas of padded blue silk, occupying the position 
 that the shirt-front had occupied in earlier days, and 
 supposed to be lineally descended from the tie of a 
 neckerchief. 
 
 The dress of their sister for to-day was exactly that 
 of a respectable workman's relative who had no parti- 
 cular ambition in the matter of fashion— a black stuff 
 gown, a plain bonnet to match. A veil she wore for 
 obvious reasons : her face w^as getting well known in 
 London, and it had already appeared at the private 
 view in an uncovered state, wlien it was scrutinised 
 more than the paintings around. But now homely and 
 useful labour was her purpose. 
 
 Catalogue in hand she took the two brothers 
 through the galleries, teaching them in whispers as 
 they walked, and occasionally correcting them — first, 
 for too reverential a bearing; towards the well-dressed 
 crowd, among whom they persisted in walking with 
 their hats in their hands and with the generally contrite 
 bearing of meek people in church ; and, secondly, for 
 a tendency w^hich tliey too often showed towards stray- 
 ing fi'om the contemplation of the pictures as art to 
 indulge in curious speculations on the intrhisic nature 
 of the delineated vsubject, the gilding of the frames, the 
 
280 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 construction of the skylights overhead, or admiration 
 for the bracelets, lockets, and lofty eloquence of persons 
 around them. 
 
 ' Now,' said Ethelberta, in a warning whisper, ' we 
 are coming near the picture which was partly painted 
 from myself. And, Dan, when you see it, don't you 
 exclaim " Hullo ! " or " That's Berta to a T," or any- 
 thing at all. It would not matter were it not dan- 
 gerous for me to be noticed here to-day. I see several 
 people who would recognise me on the least provo- 
 cation.' 
 
 ' Not a word,' said Dan. ' Don't you be afeard 
 about that. I feel that I baint upon my own ground 
 to-day ; and wouldn't do anything to cause an upset, 
 drown me if I would. Would you, Sol ? ' 
 
 In this temper they all pressed forward, and Ethel- 
 berta could not but be gratified at the reception of 
 Ladywell's picture, though it was accorded by critics 
 not very profound. It was an operation of some 
 minutes to get exactly opposite, and when side by side 
 the three stood there they overheard the immediate 
 reason of the pressure. ' Farewell, thou art too dear 
 for my possessing' had been lengthily discoursed upon 
 that morning by the Coryph^us of popular opinion ; 
 and the spirit having once been poured out sons and 
 daughters could, prophesy. But, in truth, Ladywell's 
 work, if not emphatically original, was happily centred 
 on a middle stratum of taste, and apart from this ad- 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 281 
 
 ventitious help commanded, and deserved to command, 
 a wide area of appreciation. 
 
 While they were standing here in the very heart of 
 the throng Ethelberta's ears were arrested by two male 
 voices behind lier, whose words formed a novel con- 
 trast to those of the other speakers around. 
 
 ' Some men, you see, with extravagant expectations 
 of themselves, coolly get them gratified, while others 
 hope rationally and are disappointed. Luck, that's 
 what it is. And the more easily a man takes life the 
 more persistently does luck follow him.' 
 
 ' Of course ; because, if he's industrious he does 
 not want luck's assistance. Natural laws will help 
 him instead.' 
 
 ' ¥/ell, if it is true that Lady well lias painted a 
 good picture he has done it by an exhaustive process. 
 He has painted every possible bad one till nothing 
 more of that sort is left for him. You know what 
 lady's face served as the original to this, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' Mrs. Petherwin's, I hear.' 
 
 ' Yes, Mrs. Alfred Neigh that's to be.' 
 
 ' What, that elusive fellow caught at last ? ' 
 
 * So it appears ; but she herself is hardly so well 
 secured as yet, it seems, though he takes the uncertainty 
 as coolly as possible. I knew nothing about it till he 
 introduced the subject as we were standing here on 
 Monday, and said, in an off-hand way, '' I mean to 
 marry that lady." I asked him how. "Easily," he 
 
282 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 said ; " I will liave lier if there are a Imndrcd at her 
 heels." You Avill understand that this was quite in con- 
 fidence.' 
 
 ' Of course, of course.' Then there was a slight 
 laugh, and the companions proceeded to other gossip. 
 
 Ethelberta, calm and compressed in manner, sidled 
 along to extricate herself, not daring to turn round, and 
 Dan and Sol followed, till they were all clear of the 
 spot. The brothers, who had heard the words equally 
 well with Ethelberta, made no remark to her upon 
 them, assuming that they referred to some peculiar 
 system of courtship adopted in high life, with which 
 they had rightly no concern. 
 
 Ethelberta ostensibly continued her business of 
 tutoring the young workmen just as before, though 
 every emotion in her had been put on the alert by this 
 discovery. She had known that ISTeigh admired her; 
 yet his presumption in uttering such a remark as he 
 was reported to have uttered, confidentially or other- 
 wise, nearly took away her breath. Perhaps it was 
 not altogether disagreeable to have her breath so taken 
 away. 
 
 ' I mean to marry that lady.' She whispered the 
 words to herself twenty times in the course of the after- 
 noon. Sol and Dan were left considerably longer to 
 their private perceptions of the false and true in art 
 than they had been earlier in the day. 
 
 When she reached liome Ethelberta w^as still far- 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 283 
 
 removed in her reflections ; and it was noticed after- 
 wards that about this time in her career her opeimess 
 of manner entirely deserted her. She mostly was 
 silent as to her thouglits, and she ^vore an air of unu- 
 sual stillness. It was the silence and stillness of a 
 starry sky, -wliere all is force and motion. This deep 
 undecipherable habit somethnes suggested, though it 
 did not reveal, Ethelberta's busy brain to her sisters, 
 and they said to one another, ' I cannot think what's 
 coming to Berta : she is not so nice as she used to be.' 
 
 The evening under notice was passed desultorily 
 enough after the discovery of Neigh's self-assured state- 
 ment. Among other things that she did after dark, 
 while still musingly examining the probabilities of the 
 report turning out true, was to wander to the large 
 attic wdiere the children slept, a frequent habit of hers 
 at night to learn if they were snug and comfortable. 
 They were talking now from bed to bed, the person 
 under discussion being herself. Herself seemed every- 
 where to-day. 
 
 ' I know that she is a fairy,' Myrtle was insisting, 
 ' because she must be, to have such pretty things in 
 her house, and Avear silk dresses such as mother and we 
 and Picotee liaven't got, and have money to give us 
 whenever we Avant it.' 
 
 ' Emmeline says perhaps she knows the fairy's god- 
 mother, and is not a fairy herself, because Berta is too 
 tall for a real fairy.' 
 
284 TITE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' She must be one ; for wlien there was a notch 
 burnt in the hem of my pretty bhie frock slie said it 
 should be gone in the morning if I would go to bed 
 and not cry ; and in the morning it was gone, and all 
 nice and straight as new.' 
 
 Ethelberta was recalling to mind how she had sat 
 up and repaired the damage alluded to by cutting off 
 half an inch of the skirt all round and hemming it 
 anew, when tlie breathing of the children became 
 regular, and they fell asleep. Here were bright little 
 minds ready for a training, which without money and 
 influence she could never give them. The wisdom 
 which knowledge brings, and the power which wisdom 
 may bring, she had always assumed would be theirs in 
 her dreams for their social elevation. By what means 
 were these things to be ensured to them if her skill in 
 bread-winning should fail her.^ Would not a well- 
 contrived marriage be of service ? She covered and 
 tucked in one more closely, lifted another upon the 
 pillow and straightened the soft limbs to an easy posi- 
 tion ; then sat down by the window and looked out 
 at the flashing stars. Thoughts of Neigh's audacious 
 statement returned again upon Ethelberta. He had 
 said that he meant to marry her. Of what standing 
 was the man who had uttered such an intention 
 respecting one to whom a politic marriage had become 
 almost a necessity of existence ? 
 
 She had often heard Neigh speak indefinitely of 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 285 
 
 some estate — ' my little place' he had called it — which 
 he had purchased no very long time ago. All she 
 knew ^vas that its name was Harefield, that it lay from 
 twenty to forty miles out of London in a south-westerly 
 direction, a railway station in the district bearing the 
 same name, so that there w^as probably a village or 
 small town adjoining. Whether the dignity of this 
 landed property was that of domain, farmstead, allot- 
 ment, or garden-plot, Ethelberta had not the slightest 
 conception. She was almost certain that Neigh never 
 lived there, but that might signify nothing. The exact 
 size and value of the estate would, she mused, be cu- 
 rious, interesting, and almost necessary information to 
 her who must become mistress of it were she to allow 
 him to carry out his singularly cool and crude, if 
 tender, intention. Moreover, its importance would 
 afford a very good random sample of his w^orldly sub- 
 stance throughout, from which alone, after all, could 
 the true spirit and w^orth and seriousness of his words 
 be apprehended. Impecuniosity may revel ni unquali- 
 fied vow^s and brim over with confessions as blithely as 
 a bird of May, but such careless pleasures are not for 
 the solvent, whose very dreams are negotiable, and are 
 expressed with due care accordingly. 
 
 That Neigh had used the w^ords she had far more 
 than prinia-facie appearances for believing. Neio-h's 
 own conduct towards her, though peculiar rather than 
 devoted, found in tliese words alone a I'easonable key. 
 
285 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 But, supposing the estate to be such a verbal hanucina- 
 tion as, for instance, hers had been at Arrowthorne, 
 wlien her poor, unprogressive, hopelessly impracticable 
 Christopher came there to visit her, and was so won- 
 derfully undeceived about her social standing : what a 
 fiasco^ and what a cuckoo-cry would his utterances 
 about marriage seem then. Christopher had often told 
 her of his expectations from ' Arrowthorne Lodge,' 
 and of the blunders that had resulted in consequence. 
 Had not Ethelberta's affection for Christopher partaken 
 less of lover's passion than of old-established tutelary 
 tenderness she might have been reminded by this re- 
 flection of the transcendent fidelity he had shown 
 under that trial — as severe a trial, considering the 
 abnormal, almost morbid, development of the passion 
 for position in present-day society, as can be prepared 
 for men who move in the ordinar}^ unheroic channels 
 of life. 
 
 By the following evening the consideration of this 
 possibility, that Neigh's position might furnish scope 
 for such a disillusive discovery by herself as hers had 
 afforded to Christopher, decoyed Ethelberta into a 
 curious little scheme. She was piqued into a practical 
 undertaking by the man who could say to his friend 
 with such sangfroid, ' I mean to marry that lady.' 
 
 Merely telhng Picotee to prepare for an evening 
 excursion, of which she was to talk to no one, Ethel- 
 berta made ready likewise, and they left the house in 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 287 
 
 a cab about half an Iioiir before sunset, and drove to 
 the Waterloo Station. 
 
 With the decline and departure of the sun a fog 
 gathered itself out of the low meadow land that bor- 
 dered the railway as they went along towards the west, 
 stretching over it hke a placid lake, till, at the end 
 of the journey, the mist became generally pervasive, 
 though not dense. Avoiding observation as much as 
 they conveniently could, the two sisters walked from 
 the long wooden shed wliich formed the station here, 
 into the rheumy air and along the road to the open 
 country. Picotee occasionally questioned Ethelberta 
 on the object of the strange journey: she did not 
 question closely, being satisfied that in such sure hands 
 as Ethelberta's she was safe. 
 
 Deeming it unwise to make any enquiry just yet 
 beyond the simple one of the way to Harefield, Ethel- 
 ])erta led her companion along a newly-fenced road 
 across a heath. In due time they came to an orna- 
 mental gate with a semicircular ^vall on each side, 
 signifying the entrance to some enclosed property or 
 other. Ethelberta, being quite free from any dio-ested 
 plan for encouraging Neigh in his resolve to wive, was 
 startled to find a hope in her that this very respectable 
 beginning before their eyes was the entrance to the 
 Harefield property : that she hoped it was nevertlieless 
 unquestionable. Just beyond lay a turnpike-house 
 
288 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 where was dimly visible a woman in the act of putting 
 up a shutter to the window looking ui)on the road. 
 
 Compelled by this time to come to special questions, 
 Ethelberta instructed Picotee to ask of tliis person if 
 the place they had just passed was the entrance to 
 Harefield Park. The woman replied that it was. 
 Directly she had gone indoors Ethelberta turned back 
 again towards the park gate. 
 
 ' What have we come for, Berta ? ' said Picotee, as 
 she turned also. 
 
 ' I'll tell you some day,' replied her sister. 
 
 It was now much past eight o'clock, and, from the 
 nature of the evening, dusk. The last stopping up- 
 train was about ten, so that half an hoiu" could well be 
 afforded for looking round. Ethelberta went to the 
 trate, which was found to be fastened by a chain and 
 padlock. 
 
 ' Ah, the London season,' she murmured. 
 
 There was a wicket at the side, and they entered. 
 An avenue of young fir trees three or four feet in 
 height extended from the gate into the mist, and down 
 this they walked. The drive was not in very good 
 order, and the two women were frequently obliged to 
 walk on the grass to avoid the rough stones in the 
 carriage-way. The double line of young firs nov/ 
 abruptly terminated, and the road swept lower, bend- 
 ing to the right, immediately in front being a large 
 lake, calm and silent as a second sky. They could 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 289 
 
 hear from somewhere on the margin the purl of a weir, 
 and around were clumps of shrubs, araucarias and deo- 
 dars being the commonest. 
 
 Ethelberta could not resist being charmed with the 
 repose of the spot, and hastened on with curiosity to 
 reach the other side of the pool, where, by every law 
 of manorial topography, the mansion would be situate. 
 The fog concealed all objects beyond a distance of 
 twenty yards or thereabouts, but it was nearly full 
 moon, and though the orb was hidden, a pale diffused 
 light enabled them to see objects in the foreground. 
 Beaching the other side of the lake the drive enlarged 
 itself most legitimately to a large oval, as for a sweep 
 before a door, a pile of rockwork standing in the 
 midst. 
 
 But where should have been the front door of a 
 mansion was simply a rough rail fence, about four 
 feet high. They drew near and looked over. 
 
 In the enclosure, and on the site of the imaginary 
 house, was an extraordinary group. It consisted of 
 numerous horses in the last stage of decrepitude, the 
 animals being such mere skeletons that at first Ethelberta 
 hardly recognised them to be horses at all ; they seemed 
 rather to be specimens of some attenuated heraldic 
 animal, scarcely thick enough through the body to cast 
 a shadow ; or enlarged castings of the fire-dog of past 
 times. These poor creatures were endeavouring to 
 make a meal from herbage so trodden and thin that 
 VOL. I. u 
 
290 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 scarcely a wholesome blade remained ; the little that 
 there was consisted of the sourer sorts common on 
 such sandy soils, mingled with tufts of heather and 
 sprouting ferns. 
 
 ' Why have we come here, dear Berta ? ' said 
 Picotee, shuddering. 
 
 * I hardly know,' said Ethelberta. 
 
 Adjoining this enclosure was another and smaller 
 one, formed of high boarding, within which appeared 
 to be some sheds and outhouses. Ethelberta looked 
 through the crevices, and saw that in the midst of the 
 yard stood trunks of trees as if they were growing, 
 with branches also extending, but these were sawn off 
 at the points where they began to be flexible, no twigs 
 or boughs remaining. Each torso was not unlike a 
 huge hat-stand, and suspended to the pegs and prongs 
 were lumps of some substance which at first she did 
 not recognise ; they proved to be a chronological sequel 
 to the previous scene. Horses' skulls, ribs, quarters, 
 legs, and other joints were hung thereon, the whole 
 forming a huge open-air larder emitting not too sweet 
 a smell. 
 
 But what Stygian sound was this .^ There had 
 arisen at the moment upon the mute and sleepy air a 
 varied howlin^T from a hundred tono^ues. It had burst 
 from a spot close at hand — a low wooden building by 
 a stream which fed the lake — and reverberated for 
 miles. No further explanation was required. 
 
THE HAND OP ETHELBERTA. 291 
 
 ' We are close to a kennel of hounds,' said Ethel- 
 berta, as Picotee held tightly to her arm. ' They can- 
 not get out, so you need not fear. They have a horrid 
 way of suddenly beginning thus at different hours of 
 the night, for no apparent reason : though perhaps 
 they hear us. These poor horses are waiting to be 
 killed for their food.' 
 
 The experience altogether, from its intense melan- 
 choly, was very depressing, almost appalhng to the two 
 lone young women, and they quickly retraced their 
 footsteps. The pleasant lake, the purl of the weir, 
 the rudimentary lawns, shrubberies, and avenue, had 
 changed their character quite. Ethelberta fancied at 
 that moment that slie could not have married Neigh, 
 even had she loved him, so horrid did his belongings 
 appear to be. But for many other reasons she had 
 been gradually feeling within this hour that she would 
 not go out of her way at a beck from a man whose 
 interest was so unimpassioned. 
 
 Thinking no more of him as a possible husband she 
 ceased to be afraid to make enquiries about the pecu- 
 liarities of his possessions. In the high road they came 
 upon a local man, resting from wheeling a wheelbar- 
 row, and Ethelberta asked him, with the air of a coun- 
 trywoman, who owned the estate across the road. 
 
 ' The man owning that is one of the name of JN^eigh,' 
 said the native, wiping his face. ' He binight the place 
 some time ago, and was going to build a house upon 
 
202 THE IIA^•D OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 it — ill sliort, lie went so far as to have the grounds 
 planted, and the roads marked out, and the fish-pond 
 made; well, then, owing to his father's goings on, he 
 did no more. " I shall never have a wife," he said, 
 " so why should I want a house to put her in ? " He's a 
 terrible hater of women, I hear, particularly the lower 
 class.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' 
 
 ■'Yes, and since then he has let the land to the 
 Honourable Mr. Mountclere, a brother of Lord Mount- 
 clere's, and a sort of chum of Mr. Neigh's. Mr. 
 Mountclere wanted the spot for a kennel, and as the 
 land is too poor and sandy for cropping, Mr. JSTeigh let 
 him have it. 'Tis his hounds that you hear howhng.' 
 
 ' What did Mr. Neigh's father do to so disgust his 
 son?' 
 
 ' Married his cook, and 'twas considered a disgrace 
 to the family by young Neigh, who hated that one of 
 the servant class should mix up with his blood.' 
 
 They passed on. ' Berta, why did we come down 
 here ? ' said Picotee. 
 
 ' To see the nakedness of the land. It was a whim 
 only, and as it will end in nothing, it is not worth while 
 ibr me to make further explanation.' 
 
 It was with a curious sense of renunciation that 
 Ethelberta went homeward. Neigh was handsome, 
 grim-natured, rather wicked, and an indifferentist ; and 
 these attractions interested her as a woman. But the 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. l!03 
 
 news of this evening suggested to Ethelberta that licr- 
 self and Neigh's stepmother were too nearly cattle of 
 one colour for a confession on the matter of lineage to 
 be well received ; and without confidence of every sort 
 on the nature of her situation, she was determined to 
 contract no union at all. The sympathy of unlikeness 
 might lead the scion of some family, hollow and fungous 
 with antiquity, and as yet unmarked by a mesalliance, 
 to be won over by her story ; but the antipathy of re- 
 semblance would be ineradicable. 
 
294 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 
 ethelberta's drawing-room. 
 
 While Ethelberta during the next few days was dis- 
 missing that evening journey from lier consideration, 
 as an incident altogether foreign to the organised course 
 of her existence, the hidden fruit thereof was rounding 
 to maturity in a species unforeseen. 
 
 Inferences unassailable as processes are, neverthe- 
 less, to be suspected from the almost certain deficiency 
 of particulars on some side or other. The truth in re- 
 lation to Neigh's supposed frigidity was brought before 
 her at the end of the following week, when Dan and 
 Sol had taken Picotee, Cornelia, and the young children 
 to Kew for the afternoon. 
 
 Early that morning, hours before it was necessary, 
 there liad been such a chatter of preparation in the 
 house as was seldom heard there. Sunday hats and 
 bonnets had been re trimmed ^vith such cunning that it 
 would have taken a milliner's apprentice at least to 
 discover that any thread in them was not quite new. 
 There was an anxious peep through the blind at the 
 sky at daybreak by Georgina and Myrtle, and the per- 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 295 
 
 plexity of these rural children was great at the weather- 
 signs of town, where atmospheric effects had nothing to 
 do with clouds, and fair days and foul came apparently 
 quite by chance. Punctually at the hour appointed 
 two friendly human shadows descended across the 
 kitchen window, followed by Sol and Dan, much to 
 the relief of tlie children's apprehensions that they 
 might forget the day. 
 
 The brothers were by this time acquiring something 
 of the air and manners of London workmen ; they were 
 less spontaneous and more comparative ; less genial, 
 but smarter ; in obedience to the usual law by which 
 the emotion tliat takes the form of humour in country 
 workmen becomes transmuted to irony among the same 
 order in town. But the fixed and dogged fidelity to 
 one another under apparent coolness, by which this 
 family was distinguished, remained unshaken in these 
 members as in all the rest, leading them to select the 
 children as companions in their holiday in preference 
 to casual acquaintance. At last they were ready, and 
 departed, and Ethelberta, after chatting with her mother 
 awhile, proceeded to her personal duties. 
 
 The house was very silent that day, GwendoHne 
 and Joey being the only ones left below stairs. Ethel- 
 berta was wishing that she had thrown off her state and 
 gone to Kew to have an hour of childhood over again 
 in a romp with the others, w^lien she was startled by 
 the announcement of a male visitor — none other than 
 Mr. Neigh. 
 
296 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 Ethelberta's attitude on receipt of this information 
 sufficiently expressed a revived sense that the incidence 
 of ^Ir. Neigli on lier path might have a meaning after 
 all. Neigh had certainly said he was going to marry 
 her, and now here he was come to her house — just as 
 if he meant to do it forthwith. Slie had mentally dis- 
 carded him ; yet she felt a shock which was scarcely 
 painful, and a dread which was almost exhilarating. 
 Her flying visit to Harefield she thought little of at this 
 moment. From the ftict that the mind prefers imagi- 
 nings to recapitulation, conjecture to history, Ethelberta 
 had dwelt more upon Neigh's possible plans and antici- 
 pations than upon the incidents of her evening journey ; 
 and the former assumed a more distinct shape in her 
 mind's eye than anything on the visible side of the 
 curtain. 
 
 Neigh was perhaps not quite so placidly nonchalant 
 as in ordinary ; still, he was by far the most trying 
 visitor that Ethelberta had lately faced, and she could 
 not get above the stage — not a very high one for the 
 mistress of a house — of feeling her personality to be 
 inconveniently in the way of his eyes. He had some- 
 what the bearing of a man who was going to do with- 
 out any fuss what gushing people would call a philan- 
 thropic action. 
 
 ' I have been intending to write a line to you,' said 
 Neigh ; ' but I felt that I could not be sure of writing 
 my meaning in a way which might please you. I am 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 297 
 
 not bright at a letter — never was. The question I mean 
 is one that I hope you will be disposed to answer 
 favourably, even though T may show the awkwardness 
 of a fellow — person who has never put such a question 
 before. Will vou oive me a word of encouraofement — 
 just a hope that I may not be unacceptable as a husband 
 to you ? Your talents are very great ; and of course I 
 know that I have nothing at all in that way. Still people 
 are happy together sometimes in spite of such things. 
 Will you say " Yes," and settle it now ? ' 
 
 ' I was not expecting you had come upon such an 
 errand as this/ said she, looking up a little, but mostly 
 looking down. ' I cannot say what you wish, Mr. 
 Neigh.' 
 
 ' Perhaps I have been too sudden and presumptuous. 
 Yes, I know I have been that. However, directly I 
 saw you I felt that nobody ever came so near my idea 
 of what is desirable in a lady, and it occurred to me 
 that only one obstacle should stand in the way of the 
 natural results, which obstacle would be your refusal. 
 In common kindness consider. I daresay I am judged 
 to be a man of inattentive habits — I know that's what 
 you think of me ; but under your influence I should be 
 very different ; so pray do not let your dislike to little 
 matters influence you.' 
 
 ' I would not indeed. But believe me there can be 
 no discussion of marriage between us,' said Ethelberta, 
 decisively. 
 
298 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 ' If that's the case I may as well say no more. To 
 burden you witli my regrets Avould be out of place, I 
 suppose,' said Neigh, looking calmly out of the window. 
 
 ' Apart from personal feeling, there are considera- 
 tions which would prevent what you contemplated,' 
 she murmured. * My affairs are too lengthy, intricate, 
 and unpleasant for me to explain to anybody at present. 
 And that w^ould be a necessary first step.' 
 
 ' Not at all. I cannot think that preliminary to be 
 necessary at all. I would put ni}^ lawyer in communi- 
 cation with yours, and we would leave the rest to 
 them : I believe that is the proper way. You could 
 say anything in confidence to your family-man; and 
 you could enquire through him anything you might 
 wish to know about my — about me. All you would 
 need to say to myself are just the two little words — " I 
 will,'' in the church here at the end of the Crescent.' 
 
 • I am sorry to pain you, Mr. Neigh — so sorry,' 
 said Ethelberta. ' But I cannot say them.' She was 
 rather distressed that, despite her discouraging words, 
 he still went on with his purpose, as if he imagined 
 what she so distinctly said to be no bar, but rather a 
 stimulant, usual under the circumstances. 
 
 ' It does not matter about paining me,' said Neigh. 
 'Don't take that into consideration at all. But I did 
 not expect you to leave me so entirely without help — 
 to refuse me absolutely as far as words go — after what 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 299 
 
 you did. If it had not been for that I should never 
 have ventured to call. I might otherwise have sup- 
 posed your interest to be fixed in another quarter ; but 
 your acting in that manner encouraged me to think 
 you could listen to a word.' 
 
 ' What do you allude to P ' said Ethelberta. ' How 
 have I acted ? ' 
 
 Neigh appeared reluctant to go any further ; but 
 the allusion soon became sufficiently clear. ' I wish 
 my little place at Harefield had been worthier of you/ 
 he said brusquely. ' However, that's a matter of time 
 only. It is useless to build a house there yet. I wish 
 I had known that you would be looking over it at that 
 time of the evening. A single word, when we were 
 talking about it the other day, that you were going to 
 be in the neighbourhood, would have been sufficient. 
 Nothing could have given me so much delight as to 
 have driven you round.' 
 
 He knew that she had been to Harefield : that 
 knowledge was what had inspired him to call upon her 
 to-day! Ethelberta breathed a sort of exclamation, 
 not right out, but stealthily, like a parson's damn. 
 Her face did not change, since a face must be said not 
 to change while it preserves the same pleasant lines 
 in the mobile parts as before ; but anybody who has 
 preserved his pleasant lines under the half-minute's 
 peer of the invidious camera, and found what a wizened 
 
300 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 starched kind of thing they stiffen to towards the end 
 of tlie time, will understand the tendency of Ethel- 
 berta's lovely features now. 
 
 ' Yes, I w^alked round,' said Ethelberta, faintly. 
 
 Xeigh was decidedly master of the position at last ; 
 but he spoke as if he did not value tJiat. His know- 
 ledge had furnished liim with grounds for calling upon 
 her, and he hastened to undeceive her from supposing 
 that he could think ill of any motive of hers Avhich 
 gave him those desirable grounds. 
 
 ' I supposed you, by that, to give some little thought 
 to me occasionally,' he resumed, in the same slow and 
 orderly tone. ' How^ could I help thinking so ? It 
 was your doing that which encouraged me. Now, 
 was it not natural — I put it to you ? ' 
 
 Ethelberta was almost exasperated at perceiving 
 the a^vful extent to which she had compromised herself 
 with this man by her impulsive visit ; lightly and philo- 
 sophically as he seemed to take it — as a thing, in short, 
 which every woman would do by nature unless hin- 
 dered by difficulties — it was no trifle to her as long as 
 he was ignorant of her justification ; and this she deter- 
 mined that he should know at once, at all hazards. 
 
 ' It was through you in the first place that I did 
 look into your grounds,' she said, excitedly. ' It was 
 your presumption that caused me to go there. I should 
 not have thought of such a thing else. If you had 
 not said what you did say I never should have thought 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETHELBEKTA. 301 
 
 of you or Harefield either — Harefield might have been 
 in Kamtschatka for all I cared.' 
 
 ' I hope sincerely that I never said anything to 
 disturb you.' 
 
 ' Yes, you did — not to me, but to somebody/ 
 said Ethelberta, with her eyes over-full of retained 
 tears. 
 
 ' What have 1 said to somebody that can be in the 
 least objectionable to you ? ' enquired Xeigh, with much 
 concern. 
 
 ' You said — you said, you meant to marry me — just 
 as if I had no voice in the matter ! And that annoyed 
 me, and made me go there out of curiosity.' 
 
 Neigh changed colour a little. ' Well, I did say 
 it : I own that I said it,' he replied at last. Probably 
 he knew enough of her nature not to feel long discon- 
 certed by her disclosure, however she might have become 
 possessed of the information. The explanation was 
 certainly a great excuse to her curiosity ; but if Ethel- 
 berta had tried she could not have given him a better 
 ground for making light of her objections to his suit. 
 ' I felt that I must marry you, that we were pre- 
 destined to marry nges ago, and I feel it still ! ' lie 
 continued, with listless ardour. ' You seem to regret 
 your interest in Harefield ; but to me it is a charm, 
 and has been ever since I heard of it.' 
 
 ' If you only knew all ! ' she said, lieiplessly, show- 
 ing, without perceiving it, an unnecessary humility in 
 
302 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 the remark, since there was no more reason just then 
 that she should go into details about her life than that 
 he should about liis. But melancholy and mistaken 
 thoughts of herself as a counterfeit had brought her to 
 this. 
 
 'I do not wish to know more,' said Neigh. 
 ' And would you marry any woman ofF-hand, with- 
 out being thoroughly acquainted w^ith her circum- 
 stances ? ' she said, looking at him curiously, and with 
 a little admiration, for his unconscionably phlegmatic 
 treatment of her motives in going to Harefield had a 
 not unbecoming daring about it in Ethelberta's eye. 
 
 ' I would marry a woman ofF-hand when that woman 
 is you. I would make you mine this moment did I 
 dare ; or, to speak with absolute accuracy, within 
 twenty-four hours. Do assent to it, dear Mrs. Pether- 
 win, and let me be sure of you for ever. I'll drive to 
 Doctors' Commons this minute, and meet you to-morrow 
 morning at nine in the church just below. It is a 
 simple impulse, but I would adhere to it in the coolest 
 moment. Shall it be arranged in that Avay, instead of 
 our waiting through the ordinary routine of prepa- 
 ration ? I am not a youth now, but I can see the bhss 
 of such an act as that, and the contemptible nature of 
 methodical proceedings beside it ! ' 
 
 He had taken her hand. Ethelberta gave it a 
 subtle movement backwards to imply that he was not 
 to retain the prize, and said, ' One wliose inner life is 
 
THE HAND OP ETIIELBERTA. 303 
 
 almost unknown to you, and whom you have scarcely 
 seen except at other people's houses ! ' 
 
 ' We know each other far better than we may think 
 at first,' said Neigh. ' We are not people to love in 
 a hurry, and I have not done so in this case. As for 
 worldly circumstances, the most important items in a 
 marriage contract are the persons themselves, and, as 
 far as I am concerned, if I get a lady fair and wise I 
 care for nothing further. I know you are beautiful, 
 for all London owns it ; I know you are talented, for 
 I have read your poetry and heard your romances ; 
 and I know you are politic and discreet ' 
 
 ' For I have examined your property,' said she, 
 with a weak smile. 
 
 Neigh bowed. 'And what more can I wish to 
 know ? Come, shall it be ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not to-morrow.' 
 
 ' I would be entirely in your hands in that matter. 
 I will not urge you to be precipitate — I could not 
 expect you to be ready yet. My suddenness perhaps 
 offended you ; but, having thought deeply of this 
 bright possibility, I was apt to forget the forbearance 
 that one ought to show at first in mentioning it. If I 
 have done wrong forgive me.' 
 
 ' I will tliink of that,' said Ethelberta, witli a 
 cooler manner. ' But seriously, all these words are 
 nothing to the purpose. I must remark that I prize 
 your friendship, but it is not for me to marry now. 
 
304 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 You liavc convinced me of your goodness of heart and 
 freedom from unwortliy suspici(3ns ; let that be enough. 
 The best way in which I in my turn can convince you 
 of my goodness of heart is by asking you to see me in 
 private no more.' 
 
 ' And do you refuse to think of me as . Why 
 
 do you treat me like that, after all ? ' said Neigh, sur- 
 prised at this want of harmony with his principle that 
 one convert to matrimony could always find a second 
 ready-made. 
 
 ' I cannot explain, I cannot explain,' said she, im- 
 patiently. ' I would and I would not — explain, I mean, 
 not marry. I don't love anybody and I have no heart 
 left for beginning. It is only honest in me to tell you 
 that I am interested in watching another man's career, 
 though that is not to the point either, for no close rela- 
 tionship with him is contemplated. But I do not wish 
 to speak of this any more. Do not press me to it.' 
 
 ' Certainly I will not,' said Neigh, seeing that she 
 was distressed and sorrowful. ' But do consider me 
 and my wishes, Mrs. Petherwin ; I have a right to ask 
 it, for it is only asking a continuance of wdiat you have 
 already begun to do. To-morrow I believe I shall 
 have the happiness of seeing you again.' 
 
 She did not say no, and long after the door had 
 closed upon him she remained fixed in thought. ' How 
 can he be blamed for his manner,' she said, ' after 
 knowing what I did ! ' 
 
THE HAND OF ETII ELBERT A. 305 
 
 Ethelberta as she sat felt herself miicli less a Pe- 
 therwin than a Chickerel, much less a poetess richly 
 freighted with fancy than an adventuress witli a 
 nebulous prospect. Neigh was one of the few men 
 whose presence seemed to attenuate her dignity in 
 some mpterious way to its very least proportions ; and 
 that act of espial, which had so quickly and inexplicably 
 come to his knowledge, helped his influence still more. 
 She knew little of the nature of the town bachelor ; 
 there were opaque depths in him which her thoughts 
 had never definitely plumbed. Notwithstanding her 
 exaltation to the atmosphere of the Petherwin family, 
 Ethelberta was very far from having tlie thoroughbred 
 London woman's knowledge of sets, grades, coteries, 
 cliques, forms, glosses, and niceties, particularly on the 
 masculine side. Setting the years from her infancy to 
 her first look into town against those linking that 
 epoch with the present, the former period covered not 
 only the greater time, but contained the mass of her 
 most vivid impressions of life and its ways. But in 
 recognising her own ignorance of the ratio that words 
 to Avomen bear to deeds to women in the ethical code 
 of the bachelor of the club, she forgot that human 
 nature in the gross differs little with situation, and that 
 a gift which, if the germs were lacking, no amount of 
 training in clubs and coteries could supply, was mother- 
 wit like her own. 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
306 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 MRS. BELMAINE'S — CRIPPLEGATE CHURCH. 
 
 Neigh's remark that he believed he should see Ethel- 
 berta again the next day referred to a contemplated 
 pilgrimage of an imusual sort which had been arranged 
 for that day by i\irs. Belmaine upon the ground of an 
 incidental suggestion of Ethelberta's. One afternoon 
 in the week previous they had been chatting over tea 
 at the liouse of the former lady, ISTeigh being present 
 as a casual caller, Avhen the conversation was directed 
 upon Milton by somebody opening a volume of the 
 poet's w^orks that lay on a table near. 
 
 ' ]Milton ! tliou slioiildst be living at this hour : 
 England hath need of thee ' 
 
 said ]\Irs. Belmaine with the degree of flippancy which is 
 considered correct for immortal verse, the Bible, God,&c. 
 in these days. And Ethelberta rephed, lit up by a quick 
 remembrance, 'It is a good time to talk of Milton ; for I 
 have been much impressed by reading the "Life;" and 
 I have decided to go and see liis tomb. Could we not 
 all go ? We ought to quicken our memories of the 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 307 
 
 great, and of where they he, by such a visit occa- 
 sionally.' 
 
 ' We ought,' said Mrs. Belmaine. 
 
 'And why shouldn't we?' continued Ethelberta 
 with interest. 
 
 ' To Westminster Abbey ? ' said Mr. Belmaine, a 
 common man of thirty, younger than his wife, who 
 liad lately come into the room. 
 
 ' No ; to where he lies comparatively alone — Crip- 
 plegate Church.' 
 
 ' I always thought that Milton was buried in Poet's 
 Corner/ said Mr. Belmaine. 
 
 ' So did I,' said Neigh ; ' but I have such an indif- 
 ferent head for places that my thinking goes for 
 nothing.' 
 
 ' Well, it would be a pretty thing to do,' said Mrs. 
 Belmaine, ' and instructive to all of us. If Mrs. Pether- 
 win would like to go, I should. We can take you in 
 the carriage, and call round for Mrs. Doncastle on our 
 way, and set you both down again coming back.' 
 
 ' That would be excellent,' said Ethelberta. ' There 
 is nowhere I hke going to so much as the depths of 
 the city. The absurd narrowness of world-renowned 
 streets is so surprising — so crooked and shady as they 
 are too, and full of the quaint smells of old cupboards 
 and cellars. Walking through one of them reminds 
 me of being at the bottom of some crevasse or gorge, 
 
 X 2 
 
308 THE HAND OF ETIIEI.BKRTA. 
 
 the proper surface of the globe being tlie tops of the 
 houses.' 
 
 ' You will come to take care of us, John ? And 
 you, Mr. Xeigh, would like to come ? We will tell 
 Mr. Ladywell that lie may join us if he cares to,' said 
 Mrs. Belmaine. 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' said her husband quietly ; and JSTeigh 
 said he should like nothing better, after a faint aspect 
 of apprehension at the remoteness of the idea from the 
 daily track of his thoughts. Mr. Belmaine observing 
 this, and mistaking it for an indication that Neigh had 
 been dragged into the party against his will by liis over- 
 hasty wife, arranged that Neigh should go independently 
 and meet them there at the hour named if he chose to 
 do so, to give him an opportunity of staying away. 
 Ethelberta also was by this time doubting if she had 
 not been too eager with her proposal. To go on such 
 a sentimental errand might be tliought by her friends 
 to be simply troublesome, their adherence having been 
 given only in the regular course of complaisance. She 
 was still comparatively an outsider liere, lier life with 
 Lady Petherwin having been passed chiefly in alterna- 
 tions between English w^atering-places and continental 
 towns. However, it was too late now to muse on this, 
 and it may be added that from first to last Ethelberta 
 never discovered from the Belmaines Avhether her pro- 
 posal had been an infliction or a charm, so perfectly 
 were they practised in sustaining that complete divorce 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 309 
 
 between tliinking and saying whicli is the liall-mark 
 of liigli civilisation. ' Between these and my poor crude 
 Sol and Dan how great a gulf is fixed ! ' she said to 
 herself, well knowing how plainly they would have 
 grumbled at first if under such circumstances they 
 had seen no pleasure to themselves in accompanying 
 her, and on second thoughts how determined they 
 would have been to go, on the moral ground of giving 
 pleasure to her. The same result, it is true ; but 
 reached openly ; and her heart naturally clung to the 
 manners familiar to her in childhood, though imprac- 
 ticable now. 
 
 But, however she might doubt the Belmaines, she 
 had no doubt as to Neigh's true sentiments : the time 
 had come when lie, notwithstanding his air of being 
 oppressed by almost every lively invention of town and 
 country for charming griefs to rest, would not be at all 
 oppressed by a quiet visit to the purlieus of St. Giles's, 
 Cripplegate, since she was the originator, and was going 
 herself. 
 
 It was a bright hope-inspiring afternoon in this 
 mid-May time when the carriage containing Mr. and 
 Mrs. Belmaine, Mrs. Doncastle, and Ethelberta crept 
 along the encumbered streets towards Barbican ; till 
 turning out of that thoroughfare into Eedcross Street 
 they beheld the bold shape of the old tower they 
 sought, clothed in every neutral sliade, standing clear 
 against the sky, dusky and grim in its upper stage, and 
 
310 THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 hoary grey below, where every corner of every stone 
 was completely rounded off by tlie waves of wind and 
 storm. 
 
 .Ml people were busy here: our visitors seemed to 
 bo tlie only idle persons the city contained ; and there 
 was no dissonance — there never is — l3etween antiquity 
 ;iiul such beehive industry ; for pure industry, in faiUng 
 to observe its own existence and aspect, partakes of the 
 unobtrusive nature of material thinc^s. This intramural 
 stir was a flywheel transparent by infinite motion, 
 th.rough which Milton and his day could be seen as if 
 nothing intervened. Had there been ostensibly har- 
 monious accessories, a crowd of observing people in 
 search of the poetical, conscious of the place and the 
 scene, what a discord w^ould have arisen there ! But 
 everybody passed by Milton's grave except Ethelberta 
 and her friends, and for the moment the city's less 
 invidious conduct appeared to her more respectful as a 
 practice than her own. 
 
 But she was brought out of this rumination by the 
 halt at the church door, and completely reminded of 
 the present by finding the church open, and K'eigh — 
 the, till yesterday, unimpassioned Neigh — waiting in 
 the vestibule to receive them, just as if he lived there. 
 Lady well had not arrived. It was a long time before 
 Ethelberta could get back to Milton again, for Neigh 
 was continuing to impend over her future more and 
 more visibly. The objects along the journey had dis- 
 
THE IIAXD OF ETIIELBERTA. 311 
 
 tracted her mind from liim ; but the moment now was 
 as a direct renewal and prolongation of the declaration- 
 time yesterday, and as if in furtherance of the conclu- 
 sion of the episode. 
 
 They all alighted and went in, the coachman being 
 told to take the carriage to a quiet nook further on, 
 and return in half-an-liour. Mrs. Belmaine and her car- 
 riage some years before had accidentally got jammed 
 crosswise in Cheapside through the clumsiness of the 
 man in turning up a side street, blocking that great 
 artery of the civilised ^vorld for the space of a minute 
 and a half, when they were pounced upon by half-a- 
 dozen policemen and forced to back ignominiously up 
 a little slit between the houses where they did not 
 mean to go, amid the shouts of the drivers by ; and 
 it was her nervous recollection of that event which 
 caused Mrs. Belmaine to be so precise in her direc- 
 tions now. 
 
 By the time that they were grouped around the 
 tomb the visit had assumed a much more solemn com- 
 plexion than anyone among them had anticipated. 
 Ashamed of the influence that she discovered JSTeigh to 
 be exercising over her, and opposing it steadily, Ethel- 
 berta drew from her pocket a small edition of Milton, 
 and proposed that she should read a few lines from 
 'Paradise Lost.' The responsibility of producing a suc- 
 cessful afternoon was upon her shoulders ; she was, 
 moreover, the only one present who could properly 
 
312 THE HAND of ethelberta. 
 
 manage blank verse, and tliis was sufficient to justify 
 the proposal. 
 
 She stood with her head against the marble slab just 
 below the bust, and began a selected piece, Neigh 
 standing a few yards off on lier right looking into his 
 liatin order to listen accurately, Mr. and Mrs. Belmaine 
 and Mrs. Doncastle seating themselves in a pew directly 
 facing the monument. The rij)e warm colours of after- 
 noon came in upon them from the west, upon the saLlow 
 piers and arches, and the infinitely deep brown pews 
 beneath, the aisle over Ethelberta's head being in misty 
 shade through which glowed a lurid hght from a dark- 
 stained window behind. The sentences fell from her 
 lips in a rliythmical cadence one by one, and she could 
 be fancied a priestess of him before whose image she 
 stood when with a vivid suggestiveness she delivered 
 here, not many yards from the central money-mill of 
 the world, yet out from the very tomb of their author, 
 the passage containing the words 
 
 Mammon led them on ; 
 Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell 
 From heaven. 
 
 When she had finished reading Ethelberta left the 
 monument, and then each one present strayed indepen- 
 dently about the building, Ethelberta turning to the 
 left along the passage to the south door. Neigh — from 
 whose usually apathetic face and eyes there had pro- 
 ceeded a secret smouldering light as he listened and re- 
 
TIIK JIAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 313 
 
 garded lier — followed in the same direction and vanished 
 at her heels into the churchyard, wliither she had now 
 gone. Mr. and Mrs. Behnaine exchanged glances, and 
 instead of folloAving the pair they went w^ith Mrs. Don- 
 castle into the vestry to enquire of the person in 
 charge for the register of the marriage of Oliver Crom- 
 well, which was solemnised here. The church was now 
 quite empty, and its stillness was as a vacuum into 
 which an occasional noise from the street overflowed 
 and became rarefied away to nothing. 
 
 Something like Hve minutes had passed when a 
 hansom stopped outside the door, and Lady well entered 
 the porch. He stood still, and, looking enquiringly 
 round for a minute or two, sat down in one of the high 
 pew^s, as if under the impression that the others had 
 not yet arrived. 
 
 While he sat here Neigh reappeared at the south 
 door opposite, and came slowly in. Ladywell, in rising 
 to go to him, saw that Neigh's attention w^as engrossed 
 by something he held in his hand. It was his pocket- 
 book, and Neigh was looking at a few loose flower- 
 petals which had been placed between the pages. 
 When Ladywell came forward Neigh looked up, 
 started, and closed the book quickly, so that some of 
 the petals fluttered to the ground between the two 
 men. They were striped, red and white, and appeared 
 to be leaves of the Harlequin rose. 
 
 ' Ah ! here you are, Ladywell,' he said, recovering 
 
314 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 himself. ' We had given you up : my aunt said that 
 you ^vould not care to come. They are all in the 
 vestry.' How it came to pass that Neigh designated 
 those in the vestry as ' all,' when there was one in the 
 churchyard, was a thing that he himself could hardly 
 have explained, so much more had it to do with instinct 
 than with calculation. 
 
 ' Never mind them — don't interrupt them,' said 
 Ladywell. ' The plain truth is that I have been very 
 greatly disturbed in mind ; and I could not appear 
 earher by reason of it. I had some doubt about 
 coming at all.' 
 
 ' I am sorry to hear that.' 
 
 ' Neigh — I may as well tell you and have done 
 with it. I have found that a lady of my acquaintance 
 has two strings to her bow, or I am very much in 
 error.' 
 
 'What — Mrs. Petherwin?' said Neigh, uneasily. 
 ' But I thought that — that fancy was over with you 
 long ago. Even your acquaintance with her was at an 
 end, I thought.' 
 
 ' In a measure it is at an end. But let me tell you 
 that what you call a fancy has been anything but a 
 fancy with me, to be over like a spring shower. To 
 speak plainly. Neigh, I consider myself badly used by 
 that woman ; d — — badly used.' 
 
 ' Badly used ? ' said Neigh, mechanically, and won- 
 
THE HAND OP ETIIELBEllTA. 315 
 
 cleriii,i>* all the time if Ladywell had been informed that 
 Ethelberta was to be one of the party to-day. 
 
 ' Well, I ought not to talk like that,' said Ladywell, 
 adopting a hghter tone. ' All is fair in com^tship, I 
 sup})ose, now as ever. Indeed, I mean to put a good 
 face upon it : if I am beaten, I am. But it is very pro- 
 voking, after supposing matters to be going on smoothly, 
 to find out that you are quite mistaken.' 
 
 ' I told you you were quite mistaken in supposing 
 she cared for you.' 
 
 ' That is just the point I was not mistaken in,' said 
 Ladywell, warmly. ' Slie did care for me, and I stood 
 as well with her as any man could stand until this 
 fellow came, whoever he is. I sometimes feel so dis- 
 turbed about it that I have a good mind to call upon 
 her and ask his name. Wouldn't you, Neigh ? Will 
 you accompany me ? ' 
 
 ' I would in a moment, but, but — I strongly 
 advise you not to go,' said Neigh, earnestly. ' It would 
 be rash, you know, and rather unmannerly ; and would 
 only hurt your feelings.' 
 
 ' Well, I am always ready to yield to a friend's 
 arguments .... A sneaking scamp, that's what he is. 
 Why does lie not show himself P ' 
 
 ' Don't yon really know who he is ? ' said Neigh, 
 in a pronounced and exceptional tone, on purpose to 
 give Ladywell a chance of suspecting, for the position 
 was getting awkward. But Ladywell was Wind as 
 
31G THE HAND of etjielberta. 
 
 Bartimeiis in that direction, so well had indifference to 
 Ethelberta's charms been feigned by Neigh until he 
 thought seriously of marrying her. Yet, unfortunately 
 for the interests of calmness. Lady well was less blind 
 with his outward eye. In his reflections his glance 
 had hngered again upon the pocket-book which Neigh 
 still held in his hand, and upon the two or three rose- 
 leaves on the floor, until he said idly, superimposing 
 humorousness upon misery, as men in love can: 
 
 ' Eose-leaves, Neigh ? I thought you did not care 
 for flowers. What makes you amuse yourself with 
 such sentimental objects as they, only fit for women, 
 or painters like me ? If I had not observed you with 
 my own eyes I should have said that you were about 
 the last man in the world to care for things of that 
 sort. Whatever makes you keep rose-leaves in your 
 pocket-book ? ' 
 
 ' The best reason on earth,' said Neigh. 'A woman 
 gave them to me.' 
 
 ' That proves nothing unless she is a great deal to 
 you,' said Lady well, with the experienced air of a man 
 who, whatever his inferiority in years to Neigh, was 
 far beyond him in know^ledge of that sort, by virtue of 
 his recent trials. 
 
 ' She is a great deal to me.' 
 
 ' If I did not know you to be such a con- 
 firmed misogynist I should say that this is a serious 
 matter.' 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 317 
 
 ' It is serious,' said Neigh quietly. ' The proba- 
 bility is that I shall marry tlie woman who gave me 
 these. Anyhow I have asked her the question, and 
 she has not altogether said no.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear it, Neigh,' said Ladywell 
 heartily. ' I am glad to hear that your star is higher 
 than mine.' 
 
 Before Neigh could make further reply Ladywell 
 was attracted by the glow of green sunlight reflected 
 through the south door b}^ the grass of the church- 
 yard, now in all its spring freshness and luxuriance. 
 He bent his steps thither, followed anxiously by Neigh. 
 
 ' I had no idea there was such a lovely green spot 
 in the city,' Ladywell continued, passing out. ' Trees, 
 too, planted in the manner of an orchard. What a 
 charming place ! ' 
 
 The place was truly charming just at that date. 
 The untainted leaves of the lime and plane-trees and 
 the newly-sprung grass had in the sun a brilliancy of 
 beauty that was brought into cxtraordinar}- prominence 
 by the sable soil showing here and there, and the 
 charcoaled stems and trunks out of which the leaves 
 budded : they seemed an importation, not a produce, 
 and their delicacy such as would perish in a day. 
 
 ' What is this round tower ? ' Ladywell said again, 
 walking tow^ards the iron-grey bastion, partly covered 
 with ivy and Virginia creeper, wliich stood obtruding 
 into the enclosure. 
 
318 THE IIAXD OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 'Oh, didn't you know tliat was here? That's a 
 piece of the old city wall,' said Neigh, looking furtively 
 around at the same time. Behind the bastion the 
 churchyard ran into a long narrow strip, grassed like 
 the other part, but completely hidden from it by the 
 cylinder of ragged masonry. On rounding this pro- 
 jection, Ladywell beheld within a few feet of him a lady 
 whom he knew too well. 
 
 ' Mrs. Petherwin here ! ' exclaimed he, proving how 
 io-norant he had been of the composition of the party 
 he was to meet, and accounting at the same time for 
 his laxity in attending it. 
 
 ' I forgot to tell you,' said Neigh awkw^ardly, behind 
 him, ' that Mrs. Petherwin was to come with us.' 
 
 Ethelberta's look was somewhat blushful and agi- 
 tated, as if from some late transaction : she appeared 
 to have been secluding herself there till she should 
 have recovered her equanimity. However, she came 
 up to him and said, ' I did not see you before this 
 moment : we had been thinking you w^ould not come.' 
 
 Wliile these words were being prettily spoken, 
 Lady well's face became pale as death. On Ethelberta's 
 bosom were the stem and green calyx of a rose, almost 
 all its flower having disappeared. It had been a 
 Harlequin rose, for two or three of its striped leaves 
 remained to tell the tale. 
 
 She could not help noticing his fixed gaze, and she 
 said quickly, ' Yes, I have lost my pretty rose : this 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 319 
 
 may as well go now,' and she plucked the stem from 
 its fastenmg in her dress and flung it away. 
 
 Poor Ladywell turned round to meet Mr. and Mrs. 
 Belmaine, whose voices were beginning to be heard 
 just within the church door, leaving Neigh and Ethel- 
 berta together. It was a graceful act of young Lady- 
 well's that, in the midst of his own pain at the strange 
 tale the rose-leaves suggested — Neigh's rivalry, Ethel- 
 berta's mutability, his own defeat — he was not regard- 
 less of the intense embarrassment which might have 
 been caused had he remained. 
 
 The two were silent at first, and it was evident that 
 Ethelberta's mood was one of anger at something that 
 had gone before. She turned aside from him to follow 
 the others, when Neigh spoke in a tone somewhat 
 bitter and somewhat stern. 
 
 ' What — going like that ? After being compro- 
 mised together, why don't you close with me ? Lady- 
 well knows all : I had already told him that the rose- 
 leaves were given me by my intended wife. We seem 
 to him to be practising deceptions all of a piece, and 
 what folly it is to play off so ! As to what I did, that 
 I ask your forgiveness for.' 
 
 Ethelberta looked upon the ground and maintained 
 a compressed lip. Neigh resumed : ' If I showed more 
 feehng than you care for, I insist that it was not more 
 than was natural under the circumstances, if not quite 
 proper. Opinions may differ, but my experience goes 
 
320 THE HAND OF ETIIELBERTA. 
 
 to prove that conventional squeamisliness at such times 
 as these is more talked and written about than practised. 
 Plain beliaviour must be expected when marriage is 
 the question. Nevertheless, I do say — and I cannot 
 say more — that I am sincerely sorry to have offended 
 you by exceeding my privileges. I will never do so 
 again.' 
 
 ' Don't say privileges. You have none.' 
 
 ' I am sorry that I thought otherwise, and that 
 others w^ill think so too. Ladywell is, at any rate, 
 bent on thinking so. . . . It might have been made 
 known to him in a gentle way — but God disposes.' 
 
 ' There is nothing to make known — I don't under- 
 stand,' said Ethelberta, going from huu. 
 
 By this time Ladywell had walked round the gravel 
 walks with the two other ladies and Mr. Belmaine, and 
 they w^ere all turning to come back again. The young 
 painter had deputed his voice to reply to their remarks, 
 but his understanding continued poring upon other 
 things. When he came up to Ethelberta, his agitation 
 had left him : she too was free from constraint ; while 
 Neigh was some distance off, carefully examining 
 nothing in particular in an old fragment of wall. 
 
 The little party was now united again as to its 
 persons ; though in spirit far otherwise. They went 
 through the church in general talk, Ladywell sad but 
 serene, and Ethelberta keeping far-removed both from 
 him and from Neigh. She had at this juncture entered 
 
THE HAND OF ETHELBEKTA. 321 
 
 upon that Sphinx-like stage of existence in which, con- 
 trary to her earher manner, she signilied to no one of 
 her ways, plans, or sensations, and spoke little on any 
 subject at all. There were occasional smiles now which 
 came only from the face, and speeches from the lips 
 merely. 
 
 The journey home was performed as they had come, 
 Ladywell not accepting the seat in Neigh's cab which 
 was phlegmatically offered him. Mrs. Doncastle's ac- 
 quaintance with Ethelberta had been slight until this 
 day ; but the afternoon's proceeding had much im- 
 pressed the matron with her younger friend. Before 
 they parted she said, with the sort of affability which 
 is meant to signify the beginning of permanent friend- 
 ship : ' A friend of my husband's, Lord Mountclere, has 
 been anxious for some time to meet you. He is a great 
 admirer of the poems, and more still of the story- 
 telling invention, and your power in it. He has been 
 present many times at the Mayfair Hall to hear you. 
 When will you dine with us to meet him ? I know you 
 will like him. Will Thursday be convenient ? ' 
 
 Ethelberta stood for a moment reflecting, and 
 reflecting hoped that Mrs. Doncastle had not noticed 
 her momentary perplexity. Crises were becoming as 
 common as blackberries ; and she had foreseen this one 
 a long time. It was not that she was to meet Lord 
 Mountclere, for he was only a name and a distant 
 profile to her : it was that her father would necessarily 
 
 VOL. I. Y 
 
322 THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA. 
 
 be present at tlie meeting, in tlie most anomalous 
 position that hmnan nature could endure. 
 
 However, having often proved in her disjointed 
 experience that the shortest way out of a difficulty lies 
 straight through it, Ethelberta decided to dine at the 
 Doncastles', and, as she murmured that she should have 
 great pleasure in meeting any friend of theirs, set 
 about contriving how the encounter with her dearest 
 relative might be made safe and unsuspected. She 
 bade them adieu bhthely ; l3ut the thoughts engendered 
 by the invitation stood before her as sorrowful and 
 rayless ghosts which could not be laid. Often at such 
 conjunctures as these, when the futihty of her great 
 undertaking was more than usually manifest, did Ethel- 
 berta long like a tired child for the conclusion of the 
 whole matter ; when her work should be over, and the 
 evening come ; when she might draw her boat upon 
 the shore, and in some thy my nook await eternal night 
 with a placid mind. 
 
 EXD OF VOL. I. 
 
 LOXUOX : ruiXTKD BY 
 
 tPOTTLSWOOOH AND CO., NEW-STREKT syUAItK 
 
 AXD PAULIAilEXT STUKET 
 
 y 
 
mm 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^w 
 
^